“Talking's overrated.” I wrapped my arms up around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.
Nikki groaned and left the room.
After our little reunion (it was just kissing; we'd only been apart a few hours!), I brought Trevor out to the dining room and introduced him around to everyone. The man has an amazing talent for remembering names, and he remembered each person's name after being told it just once. He'd look the person directly in the eyes, nod, and slowly repeat the name.
I don't know why this impressed me, but it did.
We all had a wonderful dinner, stuffing ourselves beyond reason, and then the dessert course came out.
As the guests disappeared, my mother noted that it was snowing, and expressed concern about Trevor being out on the road that night. “You should say over,” she said. “You can stay in Naomi's room.” She glanced over at my father, who was drinking a coffee with whipped cream on top. He shrugged.
So, that night Trevor did stay over at my house, with my parents right upstairs. Despite our desire for each other, we didn't feel right ha**ng s*x under my parents' roof with them home, so I put on my flannel pajamas and he kept on his boxer shorts, and we climbed into bed together.
And then we lay there. Both of us on our backs with our arms above the covers, him with his feet hanging off the end of my little double-size bed.
After about half an hour, I turned to him and said, “I can't sleep.”
“I need you,” he said.
My door was locked, and it had been an hour since we'd heard any sounds from upstairs, so I kissed him and reached down into his boxers. He was already rock-hard, the head moist and slick. He fumbled with my clothes and whispered, “I feel kinda dirty.”
“Me too,” I whispered back. “I like it.”
He got my pajama top off and rolled me onto my back so he could lick my ni**les. He ground his erection into my hip as he nibbled first one nipple and then the other, his hands squeezing and running over them. It was the sexiest thing ever, feeling him grinding against my hip.
I pushed the covers back and dove down, pulling his boxers off. I grasped his shaft in one hand and licked all around the head as he shuddered with pleasure. I sank my mouth down on him, enjoying the heat of him. I twirled my fingers through the glossy, black curls, and I moaned with enjoyment as I sucked on him.
He stiffened in my hand and mouth, rolling his h*ps with my movements.
“C'mere,” he said softly, his voice still deep. Then he growled, like a bear.
I yanked off my pajama bottoms and my now-wet panties and tossed them on the floor. I straddled his stomach, kissing my pu**y down near his navel, and arching forward to kiss him on the lips.
He growled again.
“My bear,” I said. “My teddy bear.”
He whispered, “Does a teddy bear do this?” He grabbed my h*ps and eased me back, spearing me. At the touch of him on my wet, pink folds, I quivered.
“Mine does.” I slid down onto him, enjoying each slippery increment.
After all the excitement of the day, I felt grounded and relaxed, touching my skin to Trevor's. We belonged together, and even though we were of such different heights, and nearly a decade apart in age, we fit so well together, and not just sexually. When we watched movies, we both laughed at the same things. When we ate at restaurants, we each insisted the other try what we'd ordered. If I joked that his dish was better than mine, he'd try to trade me, so I had the better dish. And he'd canceled his trip, because he wanted to be with me.
I was his future, and he was mine.
Pressing my hands into his chest, I sat up so I was riding him, rocking my h*ps back and forth on him. His hands were steady on me, his body beautiful beneath mine.
His c**k stiffened inside me, and I could sense the build-up in his body.
I whispered, “Come for me, baby.”
He smiled and then closed his eyes.
I kept rocking, and as he let go, so did I. His orgasm began just after mine, or just before—it was hard to tell us apart. I shook and trembled with pleasure, my face contorting and then relaxing as I opened my eyes to see him staring at me with so much adoration in his eyes.
He rolled me on my side, still impaled by him, and rocked in and out of me for the end of his orgasm, finishing deep inside me, disappearing into me.
When at last my body stopped shaking, we pulled apart and both lay on our backs.
After a moment, he reached over and entwined my fingers in his. “So,” he said quietly in the dark. “Got any plans for New Year's Eve?”
“I'm hoping that this hunky guy I know will ask me out.”
“What hunky guy? Now you got me all jealous.”
I gave him a playful swat.
“There are a few parties we could go to.”
“You mean like warehouse parties? Like Halloween?”
“No. Grown-up parties, with fancy dresses and stuff.”
“I see,” he said. “Sure, but I'm not wearing a dress.”
“Oh, Trevor.” I rolled on top of him and started kissing him again.
Part 6: Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot
Today is New Year's Day. My resolution for this year is to get back into theater, and not the office and accounting aspect of it. I want to be on stage, part of productions. I'm not dead-set on becoming a big star just yet, but let's just say I'm open to it. And in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy every minute of rehearsal, every aching muscle from learning a new routine. Theater makes me feel alive, the way I feel when I'm with Trevor. Up until now, I've been hiding, living in the basement under my parents and acting like a kid, delaying my life.
I know it's cliché to have these feelings on New Year's Day, but here I am. I feel amazing, and I'm going to take on the theater world. I talked to Trevor about it last night, and he thought it was a fantastic idea.
We were dressed up for the fanciest party we could still get tickets for, and double-dating with my parents, who were surprisingly keen on the idea of going out for a change. They usually spend a quiet night in with a few other couples, or just watch the festivities on TV.
I wore a sparkling silver dress I'd bought over a year ago, but hadn't had the opportunity to wear until just last night.
The four of us took a cab the party, which was at a restored old mansion, run by a historical society. It had been one of Trevor's business associates, Mr. Charles, who'd suggested it. As we were in the cab, I said, “Mom, Dad, Trevor—”
My mother interrupted me, “Oh my god you're pregnant!”
As my father gasped and Trevor looked like he might faint, I waved my hands, saying, “No, no, nothing like that. I swear. I just don't want to do accounting anymore. I want to get back into the theater.”