“You’re so fucking delicious,” he growled in my ear as he leaned over and kissed me. His tongue danced with mine as he buried himself as deep as possible inside me and, I could tell by the familiar catch in his throat, we fell over into the abyss together.
A few hours before Quentin’s plane left, we sat together on the couch in our room. I huddled next to him under a blanket. We were both naked, as I had been ninety percent of the weekend.
“I love the harsh way you talk to me. It makes me feel so dirty. I love it,” I giggled.
“It’s even more important when we’re not together. It establishes my authority, and reminds you of your place. As long as you’re a good girl, you will earn your pleasure and my soothing words. But if I believe you’re not giving me your all or you need more pain, you can expect my words to be mean and nasty.”
“Yes, sir.”
He tugged at my lip and I swung myself astride him, letting the blanket fall to the side.
“You’d better ride me, little girl. Ride me hard.” He smacked my bare bottom, and the slapping sound rang through the room.
I lifted up and fit his erection snugly inside me.
“That’s it. Ride me, you little bitch,” he snarled, but he wore a crooked grin on his face that made me unsure whether I wanted to kiss him or slap him. As if reading my mind, he grabbed my wrists and began pumping into me from underneath. The way our bodies joined together, moving as one, our passion for one another spilling until it was hard to tell where one of us ended and the other began.
I raised and lowered myself onto him.
“Fuck me like your life depends on it,” he growled.
“Yes, sir,” I said, and in that moment, as my hips undulated over him, taking his cock deep inside me—it did.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Two days after I returned from Houston, my mother called me. “Sophie, are you sitting down? I need you to sit down.”
I plopped onto the couch in my living room. “What is it, Mother?”
“Your father has had a heart attack, dear,” Bunny said, matter-of-factly.
“What? Is he okay?”
“Yes, the doctor says it was a mild one and they want to keep him here in the hospital for observation, but he’s going to be fine. That is, if he cuts back on the fried foods and takes his cholesterol medicine. I swear, that man…”
I breathed a sigh of relief and inquired about the hospital’s visiting hours.
“He’s sleeping now, but you might stop by this afternoon, dear.”
For all her irritating qualities, I had to hand it to her. Bunny Davenport was good in a crisis.
My relationship with my dad was complicated. He spent the majority of my life at work, so I didn’t know him the way I did my mother. But later that afternoon, when I saw him lying in that hospital bed, looking so small, all the walls we’d built up between us over the years crumbled, and I remembered the dad who used to stand in the pool and coax me to jump to him. I always feared water going up my nose, but he always caught me and showed me I didn’t need to be afraid.
“Hi, Daddy.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Sweetheart.” He smiled up at me with a weakness in his eyes I’d never seen before. “I guess your mother called you.”
I nodded. He reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. “Please do what the doctor says, okay?”
“Sure thing.” But I knew he’d do whatever he damned well pleased.
Still holding his hand, I sank into the chair my mother vacated when she set off for the nurse’s station, certain that they weren’t taking care of her husband properly and determined to set them straight.
“What are you watching?” I wasn’t used to having to carry on a conversation with my father, and this seemed like a safe start.
“Judge Bernice.” He pursed his lips. “She’s pretty good. A tough ole bird. I like that.” He grinned and turned his focus back to the feisty, hulking woman on television in a black robe, who was admonishing a stripper for loaning her unemployed boyfriend her car and five hundred dollars and expecting him to pay it back.
We watched the show until my father fell asleep again. He dropped my hand and I sat back, watching him sleep with the TV droning on in the background. Soon my mother came back, and she and I talked for a while. When our conversation came to a lull, I stood up and hugged her. “Tell Daddy goodbye for me.”
“I will. He’ll be fine. Maybe a scare like this is just what he needs to make him pay attention to his health. You know?”
Patting her on the hand, I nodded in agreement. “Maybe so. Remember to take care of yourself, too.”
Bunny dragged a hand over her perfect hair. “Well, I’ll try. I had to cancel my appointment with Rinaldo this afternoon to be here, but he says he can squeeze me in at the end of the week if I can make it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I made a face at her.
“I know.” She batted her false eyelashes at me.
“Oh, Mother,” I sighed.
“What?” she asked, doing her best impersonation of complete innocence.
I gave her a fake smile. “Nothing. I love you. Call me when you have an update on Daddy.”
“I will,” she said, picking up the remote control from the bed. As I left the room, I heard the television switch from Daddy’s court show to a soap opera.
The walk down the sterile hallway seemed to go on forever.
My parents were old. When had that happened? I wasn’t ready for this new stage in my life. I always thought I’d have kids by the time my parents’ health started to fail. The whole thing made me want to reevaluate my life. What was I doing anyway?
I wanted a family of my own, but I was divorced and not even really on the market. I had some bizarre, albeit hot, relationship with Quentin, but that was more about fun and excitement than long-term commitment. Not exactly the stable base you need to build a relationship.
But I was addicted to him. The man was like a drug, and I would do anything for a fix. Not exactly healthy…
I mulled things over during the drive home. When I got home, I made myself some spaghetti. As I sat down to eat, I realized I’d turned my phone off when I entered the hospital, but had forgotten to turn it back on after I left. On the voicemail, there was a message from Spencer saying how sorry he was to hear about my dad.
Feeling vulnerable and eager for someone to talk with, I called him back.
“You okay, Sophie?” he asked.
“I guess. Thanks for calling.”
“You know I always liked your dad. Great guy. He’s going to be okay?”
“Yes. Mom thinks this may be the wake-up call he needs to take his medicine and eat healthier.”
“That’s good. I hope so.”
Suddenly it occurred to me that I hadn’t told Spencer my dad was ill. “Hey, how did you find out my dad was in the hospital?”
“Your mom called me.”
“She did?” My blood started to boil. What was my mother trying to do?
“Yeah, but don’t be mad at her. She’s just not used to the divorce yet.”
I took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay,” I responded, knowing that my mother didn’t do anything without a reason.
For the next few minutes Spencer and I carried on an awkward conversation, caught between the old feelings of belonging together the way married couples do, and the new status quo where, in actuality, we had no real ties to each other. In the world we presently inhabited, there was no reason at all for Spencer to care about my dad or how I was feeling, other than it was his habit to care. A habit that would eventually fade.
I thanked Spencer again for his concern and hung up, wishing I could have the same conversation with Quentin.
A few days later, I was talking to Quentin. We were discussing our incredible sessions in Houston. Thinking we were on the same page, I said, “You know, since we had such a great time, maybe we could do that more often?” My timing might not have been great, but I’d been ruminating about our situation ever since we said goodbye to each other in Houston.
He paused, then said, “Let’s focus on what we can do over the internet.”