41. Colt
41
colt
The girls are settled and snoring as I sit down on the edge of my bed, wishing she were here with me. This is fucking hard. I can’t ditch them. I thought this would all be cool to do together. My ‘friend’ Maggie and the girls are going to see our family, and all I want is Maggie here. Maggie under me. I want to slide into her perfect body and share that intimacy again. I also really want to get laid. I drove most of the eight hours today with a raging boner with my children in the backseat. Every time I innocently touched her, my skin would flame. I saw her blush and that eyebrow twitch of worry.
With each brush of contact, the feelings and lust grow more intense. It’s not like I can masturbate right now with my children a foot away from me. I start listing Canadian provinces and the twenty Italian regions. By the time I get to listing the Paris neighborhoods and tourist highlights, my dick is finally deflating.
I slide under the covers. I’ve slept alone for longer than I can remember. Years ago we told the girls I snored, so I took up residence in our guest room. Then when she got sick, it was easy to say she needed space. I’d go watch TV with her in our bedroom. Both of us craving connection, companionship even if it was hollow and rote. But that was all that went on there.
The girls would climb into bed with one of us. Sloane chose me over her mom on those nights when she needed more comfort. She’s more like me than Daisy. I understand her. I pull a pillow to myself and cradle it in my arms. My phone flashes.
Maggie: I hate to bother you. Are you up?
Colt: Never a bother. What’s up?
Maggie: There’s a leak in my room.
Colt: Be right there.
I leap up and yank on my pajama shirt. Daisy sits up, and I whisper, “Be right back. Maggie’s room has a leak.”
Sloane mumbles into her pillow, “We’re fine. You do you.”
When Maggie opens the door, she’s soaked. Hair dripping and pasted to her face with smeared mascara and some kind of luminescent slime on her cheeks.
Her wet button-down pajama shirt is clinging to her, and I have to look away as the dark outline of her nipples peak. Shit. Her little matching sleep shorts are high enough I could easily get to the promised land in a second. I grip the edges of the door frame, and she is oblivious to the wanton fantasy she’s creating. Wow. That’s a lot. Someday I’m fucking her while she’s wet in these clothes.
“The sink.” Her voice is a bit crumbly.
I don’t move. She cocks her head and sees my eyes drift to her peaked wet nipples. She looks up at me with her eyes wide open.
“Colt!”
“You can’t possibly deny me right now.” I lean in and pull her lush body to mine, and as I’m about to reach for the honey inside those tiny sleep shorts, there’s a tug on the back of my shirt. I put my arms up like I’m being held up, and she exhales a sexy sigh while biting her lip. Fuck me, that’s sexy and my children are here.
“Dad. What’s going on?” I turn my head but not my body, since my pajamas are hiding nothing.
Maggie bends over and peeks out from under my crooked arm. “My sink is exploding and they’re sending a plumber, but I’m super wet.” On the word wet, she glances up at me from under those long, luscious eyelashes, and I quietly groan. She smiles slightly.
“Okay,” I say, pushing past Maggie and scooping up her suitcase and most definitely not looking at her ass. “Daisy, take Maggie to our room to clean up.”
“Come on,” Daisy says as she pulls her along and Maggie gives me one last glance and her eyes are dark and hooded but her crooked smile says it all. This is what it is.
The sink is pouring out water, and I collect her things from the bathroom and her clothes. I pick up a pink lacy thong and groan. Not helping the engorged cock situation. As much as I want to keep them I tuck them away in her suitcase. I’m going to be the good guy. It’s what I do. But I am thinking very bad thoughts. I can be both.
“The capital of Alabama is Montgomery,” I say out loud. Then I reach into her suitcase, grab the thong, and bring it to my nose. Fuck. My body surges with that familiar and perfect mix of her. Wildflowers and lust. I shove the panties into her bag, smack my dick like I’m scolding it, tuck it into my waistband and begin my geography class again. “Capital of Vermont is Montpelier”
I took a tour of the lobby with her luggage before eventually going back to my room. Resolve back in place, full on Daddy mode. Shit. Not that. I mean Father mode. I open the door quietly, seeing the sleeping arrangements have been rearranged. I bend down to kiss a sleeping Daisy on her forehead.
Then I change my damp shirt and move to my bed, pushing Sloane, the bed hog, over to her side. I can’t help myself. Before I slide into my own bed one foot from Maggie, I brush my lips over her forehead every so lightly. As if I’m sprinkling powdered sugar on a zeppole. Just a dusting of emotion to savor while she sleeps. She showered and smells clean with a touch of rosemary and history. I ball my fists and release them for a moment simply to get over the crash of love I feel for her.
It’s too soon for so many damn reasons but if we take it slow, we might navigate Gemma’s memory, the girls, and some weird kind of future together. I don’t know what any of that looks like, but I sure as hell want it to smell like this. I inhale her scent again, then crawl under the covers before turning to face her. Her eyes pop open, and the sweet smile on her face lights up this inky black room.
She reaches her hand out. I meet her between the beds, entwining my fingers in hers. The thrill of touching her has never abated. Not in fourteen fucking years. Each time feels like that impulsive moment I pulled her on my lap in room 666.
I can just make out her mouth, saying goodnight. I whisper back, “Night, Meerkat.” She chuckles a little, and then we both make sure our bedmates don’t wake up. I clasp her tightly and then pull my arm slowly back.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For including me.” I reach out my hand again, and she takes it.
I want to say, ‘Always’, and ‘I’ll never let you out of my life again, please stay with me you most gorgeous and perfect creature.’ Instead, I say, “You’re welcome.” And retreat to my side of the room. Sloane kicks me and sputters, “Don’t take the brown kind.” And I stifle a laugh, knowing she must have watched the Woodstock movie again. Then I hear Maggie giggle, and there’s no way I can survive giving her up again.