Emee #2
“I do. I do love you. I can’t believe it. But, I do.”
His chest puffs and his cock jerks inside me as he pumps his finger in and out of my ass. “Someday, when our kids ask, ‘Mommy, when was the first time Daddy told you he loved you?’, I’m going to sit back and let you tell the story.”
“You’re impossible.” I lift up, looking at the ceiling as tension gathers in that overworked bundle of nerves.
“I’ll never let you go. You need to come to terms with that. All that seed you’ve taken? That’s me, staking my claim. I’m in it to win it, baby.”
Our movements turn feral. He bucks up as I move down, one finger, then two pushing into my back entrance, making wicked, fevered bliss roll up on me out of nowhere.
The orgasm knocks the air from my lungs as King bellows to the ceiling, filling me with another round of sticky heat, and I wonder where the old Emee has gone.
After I come down, King eases me off, and I lie back on the pillow, spent, out of breath and happier than I’ve ever been in my life.
We’re together, one, and I have to accept that.
It wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t go out looking for this with one of my clients, but he loves me.
He’s shown me in so many ways, and doesn’t everyone just want to be loved like that, in the end?
So, here I am, watching his chest rise and fall ignoring the potential impending doom of my actions.
Something inside me has shifted. There are so many reasons this could blow up in both of our faces.
What if King’s no sex superstition would actually hurt his game?
Then, there’s the chance things could go sour and he could even turn me in to the ethics board.
So many hurdles but apparently none of them could have stopped this freight train.
But, it does make me think of the reason he walked into my office that first day.
“You need me to sign off on you going back to the team,” I say. It’s not a question.
King cocks his brow on a shrug. “Big game in two days, firecracker. Our last chance to get to the playoffs.” His fingers twirl my hair around and around.
I pause. “Do you think you’re ready?”
“You’re the therapist,” he says like it doesn’t matter, drumming his fingers on the flat plane of his chest. “You tell me.”
“I wouldn’t sign off if I didn’t think you were.”
I have crossed a hundred ethical lines, but I’m not a liar. I wouldn’t sign off if I thought he was really a danger to others.
He’s ready.
And, selfishly, I want to see him play.
And win.
“From what I’ve seen,” I tell him, “you’ve turned a corner.”
“I’ll turn every corner if I get to have you, baby.”
“You’ll need to keep seeing me if the league requires it. We need to keep things between us a secret.”
“I’ll be coming to your sessions for the rest of my life. But keeping us a secret, that’s not gonna work,” he says, turning serious, his hand trailing down my bare stomach, down between my legs, making me gasp when his fingers wiggle against my overworked clitoris.
I squirm, stifling a yelp. “Real sessions,” I tell him. “Let’s see what the league says.”
“I love you. I want the world to know. We will figure it out.”
I blink at him, my mouth opening and closing, puzzling out how to keep him doing the thing he loves, while keeping me doing what I’ve worked so hard for.
One seems to cancel out the other, but the look in his eyes tells me, I need to trust him. Let him take control of this conundrum, and let go.
“I love you, too,” I say, as his lips crush onto mine.
As his magic fingers and mouth send me flying again, there’s the landing.
When I reach the ground, guilt slinks through me.
I haven’t heard much from Benjamin. I should call. I should check on him.
I’m sure he was overreacting when he said they would kill him. Right?
For once, I let go of what might happen and lean into what is happening.
It’s for me, this time. It’s time my brother grew up.
***
“So, you agree?” I smile into the phone listening to Milton and the soft singing coming from the bathroom.
King said he’d grab a shower, so I could speak to Milton in peace, but I don’t think peace is the kind of word usually associated with King Hertzof.
“I agree,” Milton confirms. “There’s been a change. The league will go along with our recommendations and lift the suspension. If he agrees to continue with both of us through the end of the season.”
“He’s already agreed,” I tell him.
“Good. You’ve worked a miracle with that one, Emee. You know, if you want more hockey players—”
“Oh my God, Milt, I need a minute on that,” I say, as there’s a banging on the hotel door. “But I have to go. Thanks, Milton.”
“No, thank you. The Blades need the King. Can’t wait to bring that cup back home.”
We sign off, and I hang up as the banging becomes more insistent.
“Emee! I know you’re in there, I can hear you!” Benjamin sounds desperate. Like, even more desperate than the last time I spoke to him.
I glance around the suite. My bra is hanging off the lamp. My panties are torn and laying just inside the door. The door to the bedroom is open and the bedding is torn off, the sheet pulled from the mattress and King’s clothes are scattered everywhere. And I have no time to clear it up.
I scurry for a robe that’s on the floor and belt it around me.
I jog to the door, pulling it open a few inches as Benjamin’s fist is poised to knock again. “What?”
“Emee, can I…” He glances over his shoulder toward the elevator. “Can I come in? I need help.”
“Not a good time. I was just in the shower,” I lie. “I’m not dressed. If you need money—”
He shakes his head, pushing his face into the opening of the door, looking over me at the room. “What I need is…”
“Hey, baby, who’s at the door?” King’s voice comes from behind as I grit my teeth on a wince.
Benjamin pushes at the door with his shoulder, and the train has left the station.
This is happening.
Benjamin is silent as I step back and let the Jenga blocks fall.
“My brother,” I finally say, tugging my lips to my teeth, curling and uncurling my fingers and toes.
Benjamin steps inside, staring over my shoulder.
“Hey, what’s up? Benjamin, right?” King calls as I open my mouth to answer but drop my chin turning my head toward his voice.
King is walking out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Looking all damp and tempting, and totally unabashed about my brother standing in the room.
For a second, I consider telling Benjamin it’s a new type of therapy, or that King got upset and needed to shower.
But then, why would I be in a robe? And I don’t think my brother missed King calling me “baby”, either.
I shake my head. “Benjamin, I didn’t… You can’t tell anyone about this. It would cause huge problems for both of us.”
“King Hertzof, motherfucker.” Benjamin grins, nodding, and his eyes are bright as he turns back to me. “Don’t worry, sis, I ain’t telling nobody that doesn’t need to know.” He drops his voice as he steps back looking like he just won the lottery. “Thank you, I owe you,” he whispers.
I shake my head.
“You guys are busy! I’ll see you some other time,” he says on a wink and a salute, spinning and bolting down the hall, fist pumping the air.
I stick my head out the door, calling behind him, “No, Benjamin, I didn’t—”
But, it’s too late.
Maybe I didn’t do it for him, but maybe, just maybe, it will still get him out of trouble.
Love always wins, right?
But, that means, someone else has to lose…is winning the cup more important than saving my brother’s life?
I don’t have the answer. It’s out of my control and for the first time, I’m okay with that.