He kept kissing me even when he was finished, his cock slowly softening inside me. It was one of those nights when the sex didn’t seem to end. We kept wanting more, wanting to treasure every moment we had with each other because this relationship could be over tomorrow. I wanted to be stuffed with his come, to have his seed spill out on the sheets once he pulled out.
“You like taking my come even more than I like giving it,” he whispered against my mouth.
“Yes. Every drop.”
I was sitting in the art room drinking wine when my mom called me.
I hadn’t talked to her since that afternoon at the house. There was a heavy silence between us, an awkwardness neither one of us wanted to address. I’d never felt so distant from her, like another conversation could destroy what little connection we had left.
I answered. “Hey, Mama.”
“Hey, sweetheart.” She spoke the same words as she did before, but her tone was certainly different. “What are you doing?”
“Painting and drinking wine.”
“That sounds like a nice afternoon.”
My man was down the hall, and I wore his baggy shirt as I worked. It was definitely nice. “It is. I actually have a lot of paintings I need to give to you.”
“How many?”
“About fifteen.”
“Wow, that is a lot,” she said. “But I know they’ll sell. You seem to get better with every piece.”
“My technique does seem to get a little stronger.” I wasn’t sure if she was going to bring up Bones or not. I wasn’t sure if I was going to either. As if that afternoon had been a nightmare, both of us wanted to forget about it.
“Your father and I are in town for work. Thought we could get dinner or something.”
Was the invite just for me? Or both of us? “Yeah, that would be nice.”
“Are you guys free around seven?”
So he was invited. “Yeah.”
“You want to meet us there? I can text you the address.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Alright. See you then, sweetheart.”
“Mom?” I knew how hard this was for her. She was trying so hard to pretend everything was normal, but she detested this situation as much as my father did. She just did a better job of hiding it.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks…for trying. It means a lot to me.” The thought of losing Bones made me realize how much he meant to me. I didn’t want to say goodbye. I’d already done that once, and it didn’t work. Every man after him wouldn’t compare. I might get married someday, and in the back of my mind, I would always know my husband was second-best.
“Of course. Your painting expressed everything you’ve never told me with words.”
I knew it expressed the depth of my emotion, the powerful love that sank all the way down to my bones. “I’ll see you soon.”
I wore tight jeans with a white top and a black sweater. Black booties were on my feet, and I had a gray scarf around my neck. Spring had arrived, but it wasn’t exactly warm yet. That evening in particular, there was a strong breeze filled with the coldness of old snow.
Bones wore black slacks and a gray collared shirt, his dress clothes fitting his muscular body to a T. With sculpted arms, narrow hips, and a tight stomach, he looked undeniably handsome. Even when his ink was hidden, he had a profound appearance of deadliness. He exuded terror, a persona no one crossed. He wore a nice watch that I only saw him wear when he got dressed up, and his dress shoes were so shiny because he hardly ever wore them.
I knew he went the extra mile for me.
We stepped inside the elevator and rode it to the lobby. Bones didn’t show his displeasure over our dinner plans even though he was probably dreading them. Anytime he was with my father, he turned into a punching bag of insults.
I looked at him, seeing him display the same indifferent exterior he always had plastered on his face. “Thanks for doing this…”
The doors opened, and he stepped out first. “Don’t overthink it.”
“Overthink it? This is going to be just as shitty as last time.”
“Then there’s no reason to stress about it. We know what’s gonna happen.” We got into his truck then headed down the road. The restaurant we were going to was close by. It was a nice place, but more on the casual side of the spectrum. It was a restaurant we’d never been to before, and I suspected that was because my father wanted to go to a place where he didn’t know the owner.
The closer we got to the restaurant, the more my heart started to palpitate. My palms were sweaty and cold at the same time. Nothing would happen tonight that was worse than what had already happened, but there was so much at risk.