Doughn’t Let Me Go

by Hunter, Teagan

  “You’re walking a tightrope right now,” I warn.

  “Good thing I have excellent balance.”

  I say his name, only it comes out more of a sigh when he adds his tongue to the mix.

  Bastard.

  “Dad? What are you doing to Missy Fishy?”

  Porter freezes.

  I freeze.

  Time freezes.

  My eyes are slammed tightly closed and I pray a black hole opens and takes me away.

  “I… Umm…” His lips hum against me and I try not to squirm. “I was just trying to…uh…”

  “Spider!” I say quickly.

  “What?” he mutters.

  “Shut up. Go with it,” I mutter back. “There was a spider and I got scared. I panicked and your dad was trying to calm me down. He was just hugging me, that’s all.”

  “Really?” Kyrie’s eyes narrow to slits.

  Please believe me, please believe me, please believe me.

  “Because it looked a lot like the kind of kissing Uncle Foster and Aunt Wren do.”

  “Fuck,” Porter mumbles. “I’m going to kill those two.”

  “Dad…”

  Porter sighs heavily and pulls away from me, turning to his daughter. He stands there, hands on his hips, looking so powerful and so vulnerable.

  “Fine, fine. You caught me. I was kissing Dory.”

  Kyrie’s eyes light up. “You were? Why?”

  “Because… Well…” His eyes find mine, and I hold my breath, anticipating his next words more than I’ve ever anticipated anything before.

  “Do you like her?” Kyrie asks.

  “Yes,” Porter tells her.

  “Yay!” She claps her hands together, jumping up and down. “I like her too!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh yes.” Her head bobs. “Very much so. I hope we get to keep her forever.” She runs toward me, wrapping her arms around my legs, hugging me close.

  I return the gesture, and Porter stares at me, his eyes full of so many things right now.

  He gulps, and I watch the words tumble from his lips.

  “I hope so too.”

  My heart stops and then starts back up again, pounding harder than I ever thought it could.

  “You girls wanna go out to dinner tonight?”

  “Depends,” Kyrie says, slipping away from me. “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere you want. You pick.”

  “Can we both pick?” she asks.

  “Of course.”

  She sticks her finger out and beckons me to lean down to her. She cups her hand around my ear and whispers the place she wants to go, and I nod my head enthusiastically.

  She turns back to her father, grinning. “We decided.”

  “Yeah? Where are we going?”

  “You better ditch those fancy pants, Dad.” She breezes past him, off to go change clothes, I assume. “We’re getting pizza!”

  * * *

  As soon as Kyrie booked it out of the laundry room to get ready for our dinner out, Porter’s phone went off and Fran called him back to his office.

  We’ve had zero time to talk about what happened. About Kyrie catching us. About what Porter said.

  Now we’re crammed in a booth together while Kyrie takes up the other side with Fran.

  Our thighs are pressing against each other, and I wonder if Porter’s manspreading under the table because he’s tall, or because he just wants a reason to touch me.

  I’m hoping for the latter.

  “What’s everyone having?” Fran asks, perusing the menu. “I can never decide what to get when I come here. It’s all so exciting and all sounds so dang delicious.”

  “I’ve been slowly working my way through the menu,” Porter tells her. “I highly recommend the cheese stick pizza if you haven’t tried it yet.”

  “I just can’t wrap my head around eating a pizza with actual cheese sticks on it.”

  “It’s heavenly,” I agree.

  Porter looks at me, slack-jawed. “Excuse me?”

  “What?” I shrug. “Pepperoni isn’t the only thing I get when I come here.”

  It goes unsaid between us that I get it because it is one of the cheapest options and I can’t bring myself to eat just plain cheese pizza.

  “Everyone order whatever you want.” He says it so casually, like he’s just tossing it out there, but I see the tic in his jaw and know he’s frustrated by what I said, know he’s really talking to me. “It’s on Kyrie tonight anyway, and I happen to know she has a bunch of money stashed in her piggy bank.”

  “Hey!” she says. “How do you know how many dollars I have?”

  “Because I’m your dad, Kyrie. I know everything.”

  “You don’t know everything,” she argues.

  “Do too.”

  “Prove it. Tell me what I’m doing under the table right now.”

  “You’re holding up a finger you’re definitely not supposed to be holding up.” His eyes are sharp, but I’m sitting close enough I can see the way his top lip twitches at his daughter’s bravery.

  Kyrie’s cheeks redden, her little eyes growing two sizes. “Sorry. Uncle Winston does it all the time to Uncle Foster and their friend Sully.”

  “Your uncles are awful influences. And Sully is your uncle too, you know.”

  “Then how come he never talks to me?”

  “Don’t take it personally,” he tells her. “He doesn’t talk much to anyone, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He always plays dolls with you when you ask, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” She sighs. “I guess that’s right. Uncle Sully, then.”

  I drag the menu I don’t need to bother looking at over my mouth in an attempt to cover up my laugh at her logic.

  Kids are a hoot.

  A waiter appears at the end of the table to take our drink order, and Porter and I exchange a look when we see it’s the same one we had the last two times we were here.

  “Good evening. I’m Brad. What can I get you started with to drink tonight? We have—” Realization dawns. “Hey! You’re both back again. Do you want your usual chocolate and strawberry shakes?”

  “What! Dad! You’ve been coming here without me? Shakes and pizza?!” Kyrie throws herself down into the booth in the dramatic fashion only she can achieve. “You’re killing me!”

  Fran looks between the two of us, a knowing smile on her face. “What an interesting tidbit.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” Brad mutters when Porter glares up at him.

  “We will take our usual shakes, a small vanilla one for the little lady, and whatever Fran would like,” I say, cutting in before Porter murders the poor guy.

  “I’ll do banana, please,” Fran says.

  We all groan, including Brad.

  “What? Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  “You got it. Any appetizers? The usua—”

  Brad cuts off his sentence when Porter’s glare returns.

  “Right. I’ll just be right back with those shakes.”

  He scurries off before Porter can maim him.

  “I can’t believe you’ve been sneakin’ here without me, Dad.” Kyrie shakes her head, her hands folded across the table, a frown pulling her lips down. “That’s real messed up.”

  “Hey, I only come here when you ditch me for your aunt and uncle. If you’d quit ditching me, you could actually come here with me. But noooo. You like Foster most, remember?”

  “Actually,” I say, “I’m her favorite. I’m pretty sure you’re third.”

  Kyrie turns her heated gaze to me. “You’ve been sneaking here with him. You’re off my list too.” She leans her head against Fran’s arm. “Franny is my favorite now.”

  “I knew it was just a matter of time until you saw the light.” Fran boops her nose. “Just for that, I’m baking you your favorite cookies.”

  “See? She’s my favorite.” Kyrie grins triumphantly.

  “What a little shit,”
Porter mutters so only I can hear.

  “Your kid,” I remind him.

  He grunts and continues scanning the menu I’m sure he’s read a million times by now.

  Then suddenly his hand is on my thigh.

  Not in a sexual way, but on my thigh nonetheless.

  Luckily our menus are tall enough and close enough together to hide his touch from the prying eyes of Fran and Kyrie.

  “Dad, why are you touching Dory’s leg?”

  I love this kid. I love this kid. I love this kid.

  Kyrie pulls herself back up from under the table, and Porter stares her down with a look that goes right along with what’s running through my head.

  “Because, nosy, she keeps jiggling it and I’m trying to get her to stop.”

  “I was?”

  Porter nods at me. “Yep.”

  “Sorry,” I murmur, forcing my leg to cease its bouncing. “Must be nerves.”

  “Nerves? Why?”

  I give him a look that says You know why.

  We’re crossing lines. We’ve been crossing lines ever since our bathroom fun time at Winston and Drew’s, and Kyrie catching us today made it that much worse.

  Like I told Porter, we’re walking a tightrope.

  And unlike him, I’m not so good with balancing.

  Brad comes back with a tray of milkshakes and distributes them to their rightful recipients. We give him our order, and he promises to be back shortly.

  “Oh my gosh, I hope he hurries up. I am starving,” Kyrie complains, splaying herself across the table.

  “Starving? What, do I not feed you enough?” I tease her.

  “Need. More. Snacks.”

  “Drama queen,” Porter singsongs.

  She glares at him, then steals the cherry from his milkshake.

  “A drama queen and a thief? What kind of child am I raising?”

  “A really, really cute one,” she says, batting her lashes.

  “Not that cute,” Porter argues.

  “I don’t know. I think she’s a little angel.” Fran pinches Kyrie’s cheeks.

  “That’s because you don’t have to live with her.”

  “Hey!” Kyrie twists her lips at her dad. “Rude.”

  “I’m sorry, have you smelled your feet? There is no way an angel has feet that smell that bad.”

  I point toward Porter. “As someone who does your laundry, I’m with your dad on this one.”

  “Is that what you were doing when I saw you kissing him?”

  “Throwing your stinky socks into the washer?” I smart back quickly. “Yep.”

  I can feel Fran’s eyes on me again, and I chance a peek.

  She’s grinning from ear to ear, clucking her tongue at Porter and me. “Very, very interesting. I wonder if Mel knows about this.”

  “Fran…” Porter warns.

  She mimes zipping her lips, tucking an imaginary key into her clutch purse. “Secret’s safe. Besides, you can tell her in person next week when you two meet about the move.”

  Porter’s eyes widen at Fran’s words and he sends her a zip it look. It’s fleeting, but I see it.

  Dread washes over me.

  I was right. Porter is leaving.

  Emptiness begins to settle in at the thought of him leaving me.

  No. Not me. Here. It’s just sex, Dory. Get it together.

  The scent that’s all him fills my nostrils as he leans into me. “We should probably talk later.”

  I don’t look up at him.

  I can’t. If I do, I’ll break, and I’ll end up doing something crazy like begging him to stay.

  Instead, I nod.

  He squeezes my thigh and then his hand shifts to his own lap, and I miss his warmth instantly.

  Porter is going back to California. His business is there. His life is there. Moving to the East Coast was just an experiment, and it didn’t turn out like he planned.

  It makes sense for him to leave.

  And I shouldn’t be surprised.

  Because nothing good ever lasts.

  Slice Seventeen

  Porter

  It’s now or never, big guy.

  Big guy? Since when the fuck do I call myself big guy? God, I’m an idiot today.

  My first big screwup happened this morning when I messed up with yet another conference call. Stupid time differences got me all fucked up.

  Okay, time differences and the fact that I spent way too long lingering in Dory’s bed this morning, but whatever.

  It was another screwup.

  Mel called me shortly after my blunder and chewed me a new asshole.

  She’s lucky I love her and let her go on as long as I did considering I sign her paychecks and all.

  But she was right. It was my mistake, and I made it because I can’t seem to get my daughter’s nanny out of my head.

  This summer with Dory has been as gratifying as it has been frustrating.

  I thought for sure we were making headway after the get-together at Winston and Drew’s, but it seems for every step we take forward, we take two back. Every time she looks at me with those eyes that say I want this too, she reminds me of our no-feelings agreement.

  I have feelings.

  A lot of fucking feelings.

  And I want to spew them all out at her more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything before.

  She kissed me.

  This morning, I felt her press her lips against mine. It took every ounce of strength I had to control my breathing and pretend to still be asleep and not kiss her back.

  But she fucking kissed me.

  Which is why I’m standing at her door tonight. Not to fuck, though I’d never complain about that, but to talk.

  About us.

  Even while Mel was berating me this morning for missing the call and all my other fuckups, all I could think about was Dory’s lips on mine and how I’d like to feel them for as long as she’ll let me.

  I could be insane making this leap, but I begged Mel to fly out here earlier than we originally scheduled. If I can talk her into it, I’ll be making her my partner and signing over a majority of the company to her.

  Not just because she’s right and I need a break. I’ve been running myself into the ground since I was a teen, always biting off more than I can chew, and I’ve officially come to the end of my rope. I need to relax, and not just to avoid going on blood pressure medication before I hit thirty. I need to do it so I can be a better father to Kyrie, and so that maybe—just maybe—I can finally find some happiness outside of the company I built.

  I want that happiness with Dory.

  I just hope she’ll be on board with that too.

  Lifting my hand, I rap my knuckles against the door. I don’t know why I do it. I could walk right in and she wouldn’t mind a bit. But with all these other lines we’ve had drawn between us, it just feels wrong to do so.

  There’s a shuffle behind the wooden door, and I wonder if she’s brushing her hair down or pulling that tiny sleep shirt of hers down over her ass.

  She pulls the door open just an inch. When she realizes it’s me, she pulls it back farther, a shy grin stretching across her lips.

  “Hi,” she says breathlessly.

  “Hi. Can I come in?”

  She bites her bottom lip, looking nervous for the first time since the first night I showed up in this exact same spot.

  Finally, she nods and opens the door just enough to let me in.

  I itch to gather her in my arms and crowd her against the door or toss her onto the bed, pulling one of her perfect nipples into my mouth while I let my hands roam her body like I normally do.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, I brush past her and take a seat on the edge of the bed.

  She hesitates by the door, staring at me with a tentative gaze.

  “I’m not going to bite you, Dory,” I tell her.

  Another grin, this time a little mischievous. “But I like it when you do.”

  She crosses the r
oom and surprises me by crawling into my lap, straddling me like a pro.

  My hands fall to her ass, helping her keep her balance on my knees.

  “Hi,” she murmurs again, her blue eyes darkening with lust.

  “Dory…”

  Her lips fall to my jawline and she peppers me with kiss after kiss, her soft touch ghosting over the beard I’m currently growing. She told me a week ago that she liked the feel of it between her legs, and I don’t think I’ll ever shave again after a comment like that.

  She rocks against me, and I can already feel my cock growing. I’m starting to think talking to her in her room was a bad idea.

  Her room means sex.

  And as much as I want sex right now, I also just want to talk.

  Her hips move again, and I groan at the friction against my dick. Is she always going to feel this good? I squeeze her ass in my palms, pulling her tighter against me.

  I let my right hand dance along her body until it’s nestled right between her thighs. She lets out a small gasp when I trace the outline of the skimpy panties she’s wearing. When I skim my thumb over her clit, she arches into the touch, and I love how her breathing begins to change at such a simple touch.

  So I do it again.

  And again.

  Just a tiny, quick sweep. Over and over until I know she’s starting to get frustrated.

  There’s no real pressure behind the touch, no real hurry. She’s still pressing kisses against my jawline, her hips now rocking faster.

  She wants more. Needs more.

  “Stop playing around and fuck me already,” she growls. “Please.”

  God, I want to. But first…

  “We need to talk,” I tell her, sliding my hand from between her thighs and moving it back around to her ass. It’s not necessarily safe from my assault either, but I won’t go there right now.

  She pulls away. “Is this about earlier? With Kyrie? Her catching us in the laundry room?”

  That was my other fuckup today—my inability to keep my hands off her.

  When I saw her in the laundry room, I couldn’t hold myself back—and it wasn’t just because she was bent over and her ass was on full display.

  I was just hit with this overwhelming feeling of rightness. She fits in our lives. She fits with us. I had to touch her.

  Sure, my spur-of-the-moment decision caused me to out us to my daughter earlier than I ever planned to, but when Kyrie asked me what was going on, I couldn’t lie to her.