“I’ve never cum inside anyone without protection before.” He reaches down and slides his middle finger between my lips, into my cunt. “That’s my cum in there,” he growls proudly.
I think him cumming inside me, the way he truly made me feel like I’m the most desirable human alive, him… it’s all the root cause of the tears that are one crooked smile away from spilling over. So he lowers me to the floor, and I change the subject.
“It is but I feel bad that we did that before I got to ask about your dad.” I stroke a hand down his arm, my heart skipping a beat at how sweaty he is. God, that’s sexy. I think the only time I ever saw Dustin sweat during sex was when he ate too many chicken wings before.
He scoops my clothes off the floor and motions for me to lift my arms. As he sinks my shirt over my head, he presses a soft kiss to each of my breasts before pulling the cotton down. A moment later, he has me stepping into my sweats. Fully clothed, I lean against the door and watch his chiseled body torque and flex as he bends and pulls, getting himself dressed, too.
“Thank you,” I whisper to him as he folds down the collar on his Wrench Kings embroidered Dickies shirt.
Dustin wore suits. Suits are stupid.
“Thank you,” he says, taking my face in both hands to kiss me over and over. “I needed that. More than you know.”
“But I want to know,” I counter, getting lost in the twinkle of his eyes as a rerun ofThe Fresh Princedances against us.
He links our hands and leads me to the couch.
When we sit, we take opposite sides, and I cross my legs, getting ready to listen. He pats his lap, and I swear I don’t want to giggle as I slide across the couch and make myself comfortable in his lap… but I do.
With his hands on my thighs, he flashes me a broken smile. “He was not excited to meet me.”
Fuck. I could have guessed as much, but still, my stomach plummets for this beautiful man and his hopeful heart. “Did he… know about you?” I don’t know what to ask.
His nod is slow and hollow. “He was there when I was born.”
Beau has said he never knew his mother. But beyond that, I don’t know much. I know his favorite color is orange, that he loves rock n roll, that his favorite band is Queen (I didn’t expect that), he’s allergic to Penicillin, he’s had stitches four times, he’s never seen a single episode ofGame of Thrones, and that while he’d never admit it to anyone but me, his real favorite movie isPretty Woman.
But I don’t know hardly anything about his mother. Same with his father–the one who raised him. I know what a great man he was, but I don’t think I even know his name or what he did for a living. I don’t know if he was married before he adopted Beau or… anything.
“Wow,” I say, wrapping my arm around his neck and dipping my fingers into his luscious hair. “Was he… married to your mother, or…?” I want to ask all the right things, say and do anything and everything to lift him up, but right now I feel like I’m failing. Instead I hold him a bit tighter.
He nuzzles his cheek into my chest, both appreciatively and lovingly, sighing. Beneath my men’s Target sweats, my pussy clenches. I know it’s a dark emotional moment but it’s bonding, and… I’m realizing as each day goes by, I really want to connect with Beau… more than anyone else.
Hooking a finger in the neck of my shirt, he kisses my chest, then looks up at me to answer. “He made it sound like they had a hook-up type of relationship. He said, and I quote,I didn’t want to be a dad and I still don’t.” Beau’s smile is shattered, but still, he struggles to keep it together.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my eyes growing wet from his pain. To lose the man he loved and idolized a year ago, then to find out the man who created him doesn’t want him? I can’t imagine.
He shakes his head, letting loose a small, sardonic chuckle. “I didn’t want him to be my father. I wanted to know why my real father told me about him.” We sit there silently as I stroke up the back of his head and massage his neck, the hand not wrapped around his neck now linked with his hand in my lap.
“It was stupid to go there and expect reason and answers.” He snorts. “It’s like expecting your ex to want to father Jett.”
Ice shoots down my spine, causing me to straighten suddenly, inhaling a sharp breath. That’snotthe same thing. Leaning back, anchoring myself to his lap with the hand around his neck, I look at him with confusion etched on my face.
“That’s…notthe same thing.” My lips turn downward as I study him. “How could you think a man that accidentally fathered a child then didn’t know him for his entire life is the same as Dustin not wanting Jett in his life?” I try to slide off his lap now but he loops his arms around my waist, keeping me on him.
“Don’t get upset,” he offers, and somehow, I’mmoreannoyed.
“I alreadyamupset, Beau, because you said you wouldn’t talk about Dustin and you just did. And you just compared a man who doesn’t want children to a man who knew he was trying to have one then abandoned it.” The anger surging through my veins like a flame tearing down a line of gasoline gets me off the couch, on my feet.
He stands too, his eyes tired and weary. “Beck, listen, I didn’t mean to start a fight, but… to me, itisthe same. I’m not getting lost in the minutiae of their excuses–bottom line is they got women pregnant and abandoned their responsibilities.”
I blink at him. My heart throws itself against my ribs repeatedly, making the edges of my vision go blurry. “It’s not the same thing. You don’t know Dustin.”
He steps back like I’ve stabbed him, and it sends a jolt of awareness through me. We’re arguing and… he’s hurt. But, I’m hurt. No, I’m not hurt. I’mangry.
“Why are you defending him?” he asks, his voice sounding more broken than when he called me earlier. His bio dad let him down and sent him in a tailspin, he came to me to feel better, and now… he’s worse. Even in my anger, I see that.
I swallow hard, ignoring the heat behind my eyes. “I think you should go.”