“I think there’s nothing better to follow a bedtime story than a lullaby. Go ahead, she’s waiting for you.” I nod toward the stairs.
Ella smiles and heads up to Chloe’s room. Her new dress flares out around her legs as her bare feet cheerfully hop up the stairs. I tilt my head and listen for a moment as her sweet song fills the house. Without meaning to, I find myself tip-toeing back up the stairs, drawn to the music like a sailor to a siren song.
As my foot hits the top stair, Ella’s simple tune comes to an end. “Good night, Chloe,” she whispers.
“No, Ella, wait.” Chloe stops her.
“What is it?” Ella sounds concerned.
I hope Chloe isn’t just turning this into a game, trying to stretch out her bedtime with a bunch of distracting questions.
“Um, uh, well…”
I shake my head and start to head down the hall to tell my daughter that bedtime means sleep.
“Ella, sometimes I miss my mommy.” Her voice is thin, but her confession pierces my heart, stopping me abruptly in my tracks.
“Oh, honey, that’s completely normal,” I hear Ella take a couple steps closer to Chloe. “I lost my mommy too when I was younger and I still miss her,” she answers.
“You lost her? Where?” Chloe asks.
“No, I mean, I didn’t lose her. She…” Ella’s voice trails off into silence.
“Did she die?” The bluntness of the question makes me wince. Children aren’t really known for their tact, I guess.
“Yes, she did.”
“My mommy died too,” Chloe explains plainly.
It’s not something we talk about a whole lot. When I first brought my daughter into my home, I took her to a professional to talk about her mom. The therapist told me to keep the dialogue open about her death, but not to dwell on it. After the first four months, Chloe stopped asking when Janet was going to come get her. Lately, I’ve been wondering if she still remembers her at all.
“I know, and I understand how much you must miss her.” Ella’s voice is rich with compassion.
“Uh-huh, I do. I think she used to sing me a bedtime song too, but not the same one you sing. I like them both.”
I didn’t realize Janet had a special lullaby for Chloe. My gut twists with guilt for not knowing something that probably meant a lot to my little girl.
“I’m glad you like it,” Ella answers.
“Yep. Plus, your song keeps spiders away, so I really like that.” She sounds so cheerful. You’d never guess that she was talking about losing her mom. “Ella?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Are you my new mom?”
My heart leaps into my throat as the bluntness of her question sucks the air from my lungs. How is it that kids can just cut so straight to the point? They never get lost in the swirling ‘maybes’ or ‘what-ifs’. Their world is so remarkably black and white.
“’Cause I’d like if you were my new mommy.” She gets excited.
“Well, thank you,” Ella finally answers. “I would love that too, Chloe. But I’ll never replace your mother, okay? Where I’m from, women in the family are so important,” she explains. “Mothers are super special, but you can also have a really close bond with your grandmother,” she tells Chloe.
“Like my nana!”
“That’s right. Also we really love our tias, I mean, our aunts. I would be more like a special auntie, okay?”
“Okay.” Chloe’s word is muffled by a big yawn.
“I hope you have sweet dreams. Sleep well.” Ella tiptoes out of Chloe’s room and into the hallway.
“You did a great job,” I whisper, leading her back downstairs.
“Thank you.” She follows me down and my thoughts are a crazy mess.
How is it that kids can see the world so plainly, but as we age, we overcomplicate every single thing? Giving layers of complexity to issues that aren’t all that hard to understand. My thoughts go back to my mother’s words, back to when she said the jarring statement, like a simple fact, that I love Ella.
Why did I even question it? As my heart swells and warmth fills my veins, I know she wasn’t wrong. I am in love with Ella.
I love her.
Now I just need to stop overanalyzing and accept that simple, beautiful truth.
31
Ella
Jackson and I ease back against his comfortable sofa and he searches for the remote control. For a moment, my thoughts zap back to Sylvia and Raymond. For years I watched them go through their nightly routine of lazily relaxing on the couch while watching shows. In a weird way, it was one of the things I envied the most about their lives. Just having that time to relax. To let their minds go numb and let the hardships of their day float away while they enjoyed each other’s company for a few hours. I was never allowed to sit on their furniture, let alone watch their television, so as Jackson grabs the remote and flicks his screen to life, a tingle of rebellion travels down my spine.
An advertisement for the new fall line-up of shows draws our attention as Jackson sinks back against the navy fabric covering the cushions and whistles. “I can’t believe tomorrow is the first day of October, can you? Where did the summer go?”
I sit taller, my muscles tensing. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.” The words fall out of my mouth, sounding every bit as surprised as I feel.
“What? No, it’s not.” Jackson casts a glance at me from the corner of his steely eyes with a half smirk on his face. “Wait, is it?” He looks startled as his full attention turns to me.
“It really is. I don’t care, though. I didn’t realize it was that time of year again.” I look down at my nails, fleeing from the intense curiosity written across Jackson’s raised eyebrows.
“You’re serious? You really forgot that tomorrow’s your birthday? How does that even happen? I had no idea!” He runs his broad palm down over the back of his neck and searches the room. “I don’t have a gift for you or anything.” He sounds so much more disappointed by that fact than I could ever feel.
“Yes, I’m serious. Jackson, listen.” I grab his hand, but I can see the wheels turning inside his head. Like he’s trying to figure out if it’s too late to run out to the store to buy something for me at the last minute. “I haven’t celebrated my birthday since I turned fifteen years old. It was my quinceañera, which is a big deal in Colombia. It’s when a girl becomes a woman.”
“So, kinda like a sweet sixteen then?”
“I’m not sure.” I shrug. “Do girls wear a beautiful pastel dress and a tiara for their sweet sixteen?” I honestly don’t know. I haven’t exactly been invited to a lot of American parties.
“Uh, no. Not usually. That sounds really elaborate.” Jackson watches me closely, waiting for me to continue, but my thoughts drift back to my fifteenth birthday. Memories of the happiest and most exciting night of my life flash through my head like a slow motion movie montage.
“My family started my day with fifteen helium heart-shaped balloons and my mother made me the most delicious Arepas.” I can almost taste the sweet cornbread pancake smothered in soft, white cheese melting on my tongue. I swear, I can almost smell the inviting home cooked breakfast. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.
“That sounds sweet.” His hand slides over mine, enveloping it in warmth and strength.
“It was beautiful,” I agree. “I remember I was looking forward to finally getting to wear makeup. Up until then, my parents were very strict about it. I couldn’t even wear tinted lip gloss. I’d beg them to let me, you know, just for special occasions, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. She’d always told me to wait for my quinceañera. So, when I woke up that morning, that was the first thing on my mind.”
I remember how I stuffed my breakfast in my face, chewing as fast as I could, and raced downstairs where my mother had laid out my gorgeous, pillowy gown for that night. My parents both watched me with a twinkle in their aging eyes as I lifted the gown from the back of the chair and swirled it around the f
loor.
“Fifteen sounds like a good age. We should have the custom here too,” Jackson murmurs.
“That night, at the huge dance, all of my family and friends were there to celebrate.” I can feel the dewy humidity in the air as I close my eyes and recall the details that I haven’t allowed myself to remember in years. “I started the night out in flat shoes. It’s part of the tradition. It’s symbolic of starting out as a girl, but when my father slipped my high heels on and I stepped out onto the floor”—I sigh at the memory of the smiles and clapping as I twirled theatrically for the onlookers—“I felt like a princess.” I realize my eyes have softened with tears and I wipe them away quickly.
“It sounds magical.” Jackson squeezes my hand, hanging off my every word.
“It truly was.” I breathe out a quivering lungful of air and force my tears away. “Not long after that, my family was murdered. I was smuggled to America and brought to Sylvia’s house. I never had another birthday again. But I always had that memory. It was the best day I ever had and I got to share it with my family before they were taken from me. I’m just so grateful I at least had that one day with them.” I can’t stop the tears. I brush them away, but they just spring right back.
“Shhh, hey, come here.” Jackson pulls me into his thick chest and I can smell his musk as I bury my face and let the tears dry against his shirt. The warmth of his body, the hard ridge of his muscles, his manly scent, it all relaxes me. I sink into him, losing myself in his arms.
“Are you okay?” He grazes his thumb down the edge of my cheek as I lift my head and meet his eyes, nodding.
“I will be.” I smile, for once realizing the truth in my words. I’m free from that horrible woman who kept me as her indentured servant. I’m finally free and I couldn’t imagine a better life. I get this fluttery feeling, this buzzing pulse that tingles every nerve in my body, this weird way I struggle to breathe every time he looks at me like this.
Jackson leans into me, his lips brushing mine in a kiss as light as a whisper, as soft as a summer breeze. It’s not the passionate, desperate kisses he’s covered my lips with before. It’s simple and sweet.
“Come with me.” He stands up and tugs my hand, helping me to my feet. I follow him into the kitchen and he opens the fridge door, taking out a box of white wine. “Mom left this here on labor day. We had a barbeque and she likes to keep it classy.” He chuckles. “Here.” He opens the cabinet door and grabs two wine glasses, holding them under the spout. He fills them up, handing me one. “I know it’s pretty far from fancy, but I’d like to make a toast.”
I can’t tear my eyes away the neatly trimmed hair covering his chiseled jaw or the faint pink heat staining his cheeks.
“Before I met you, I spent my entire life thinking that there was no such thing as a perfect woman. Like the idea that everyone has that one soul mate out there, I thought it was bullshit.”
Jackson clears his throat and averts his gaze. “Sorry. What I’m trying to say is, I wrote that off as a silly dream. A fantasy. Some Hollywood idea that no person in real life could ever measure up. Not until I met you.”
His voice cracks and he swallows hard. “I’d like to make a toast, to the woman who made that glittery Hollywood fantasy dull in comparison to her smile. To the woman who has an ability to make me want to fall at her feet and feel like I’m walking on a cloud at the same time. To the woman I love with my entire heart. Happy Birthday.” He smiles and my mouth drops open. Jackson clinks his glass against mine, and I go through the motion of taking a sip, but shock has set in.
Did he really? Did he just tell me he loves me?
“I love you too.” I take a step closer until we’re pressed close.
Jackson places his glass down on the counter and takes mine from my hand, putting it down beside it. He quickly slides his hands under my thighs and lifts me from the ground. His mouth finds mine and stifles my nervous giggle as he walks me back toward the counter and sits me on the edge.
He takes his time soaking me in from head to toe and then back up again as he steps between my legs and grinds against me. “I was wrong.” His voice is velvety and rich. “I do have a gift I can give you. Unfortunately I can’t wrap it, though.” His eyes dance under the light.
“Oh.” My breathing quickens. “And what’s that?”
“How about I show you?” His fingers thread through my hair and tug the locks, jerking my head back as he kisses a trail down my neck.
I moan softly, “Yes.”
32
Jackson
I glide the heel of my hand up Ella’s thigh, letting my outstretched fingers graze the wet fabric of her panties. My fingertips brush over the damp spot and my cock throbs. “I need to fucking taste you.” I guide her back on the counter, my other hand still tangled in her hair, until she’s lying back on her elbows and I kneel until my mouth is hovering over her tight, sweet pussy.
I tug the pink triangle of fabric across her shaved pussy and hold it there as I lift up her hips so her plump ass is jiggling in the air, driving me wild as I dive my tongue in past her lips and lick a long, firm trail right up to her clit.
Ella whimpers and squirms in my hands as I roll the tip of my tongue over her sensitive nub. The way she’s biting her lip with her eyes squeezed almost shut, but still open enough that she can watch me eat her out makes me crazy.
“That’s right, you watch me,” I murmur and kiss the inside of her thigh. “I want to see the look in your eyes when I make you cum.” I lick a slow circle around her clit, teasing her before I flicker my tongue over her feverishly.
“Oh! Jackson!” Ella moans and her thighs quake.
“You taste so sweet.” Her cheeks flush at my compliment. “I’m going to swallow every drop of your nectar. I’m the only man who will ever make you cum, Ella. You’re mine. And those sweet juices are just for me.” I watch as she silently nods. “Say it,” I demand.
“I’m yours, Jackson. I’ll always be yours.” She grinds her pussy against my mouth.
“You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you?” I smirk at how boldly she’s speaking with her body.
“Mmmm, I’m only naughty for you,” she purrs as she shimmies her hips and rubs her juices onto my lips.
“You want me to lick you, Ella? Tell me what you want,” I tease her, holding her tight in my grasp. She can’t move any closer to me. I won’t let her until she begs for it.
“Please.” The word is a statement. I can hear the ache of need in her voice as she watches me closely. “Please make me cum.” There’s an edge to her voice I’ve never heard before. A desperation to feel the magic of my tongue.
I open my lips, kissing her clit before I press my face into her pussy. Her juices cover my chin as I thrash my tongue over her clit. I watch her ass bounce as I hold her in the air and it makes me crazy. I take out all my pent-up desire on her little clit, twisting my tongue over it, contorting it and flickering it until Ella’s breathing turns into shallow pants and she rocks her hips toward me, moaning a long, sweet sigh of pleasure.
“Oh. My. God!” She explodes against my tongue and I lick her juices thirstily. Ella’s body quivers against me and she throws her head back, her long hair cascading down over the counter.
I gently release her hips from my iron grip, lowering her ass back down to the counter, and stand up. I love seeing what I can do to her, the way her face is twisted up with bliss as she writhes on the counter.
“Get over here.” I flip her onto her belly and quickly free my ready cock from my pants. I tug her panties down just past her full cheeks and guide my cock inside her, thrusting deep and hard until I’m buried to my balls, being squeezed tight by her walls.
“Uh!” she cries out and I hold her down against the counter as I fuck her from behind so hard our skin claps together, filling the kitchen with little slapping sounds.
“Do you like that? You want it rough, Ella?” My fingers dig into her shoulders as I press her flat against the counter so her
ass is pushed up for me.
“Give it to me hard, Jackson. Make me yours.” She turns her head to the side and flattens her cheek.
I grab her arms and pin them behind her back in one hand, fucking her as she moans. I lick my thumb on my other hand and slide it between her thick cheeks, pressing it up against her asshole. Ella jumps with surprise, but her pussy clenches down against my cock even harder, making beads of sweat break out over my forehead as the tension builds inside me.
“Mmmm, you’re my dirty girl, aren’t you?” I push against her asshole until the tip of my thumb pushes past her body’s resistance and sinks inside.
“Oh!” she whimpers, but thrusts her ass back against me, pushing against my thumb and helping me bury it in her ass as I fuck her hard.
“Where do you want it?” I start to pull back, feeling myself reach the brink. I can’t hold back anymore. I’m going to cum.
“No, don’t pull out. Let me feel you. I want to feel your cum inside me. I want you to fill me up,” she begs in huffy breaths, grinding her ass back.
I can’t resist. I’m already too close. I push my thumb in her ass deep and fill her pussy completely as I sink my cock inside her. My orgasm washes over me, my cum spurting inside her in waves as she cries out and clenches down against me. Her asshole puckers and tightens around my thumb and her pussy milks my cock for every last drop of my seed as I lie against her, motionless except for the last jerking twitches of my cock inside her.
Breathing hard, I lean into her and kiss her shoulder, giving it a little nibble as I step back and my cock slips out. I gently pull my thumb free from her ass and Ella stands up, turning around to face me.
“Happy Birthday, Ella.” I smirk and a sparkle of delight dances in her eyes.
“That was an amazing gift.” She giggles. “Thank you.”
“Oh, that was only the first present. Let’s get you upstairs and I’ll give you your next gift in the shower.” I nod toward the door and we rush up the stairs together.
Tinder Ella: A Modern Day Single Dad Fairy-Tale Page 13