Chapter 38
Nic
When I listen to the podcast Silke and Avery are guests on, it’s almost like hearing a stranger speak. That Avery would candidly reply to such intimate questions in public is astounding—and sounds nothing like the woman who walked into my practice a few months ago.
I’m in the middle of preparing us a meal when she lets herself into my house and walks into the kitchen.
I wipe my hands and say, “You’re definitely a queer icon now.
” I hold my arms open to her. Part of me still can’t believe Avery Hall has a key to my house that she uses on a very regular basis and, when she does, her first action is always to kiss me profusely.
“You sounded so mature and grounded on that podcast.”
“Maybe I can stop seeing Jan now,” Avery whispers. “Do you think I’ve graduated from therapy?”
“That’s a question for your therapist,” I wisely say.
“I’ll ask her tomorrow.” Avery kisses me on the cheek again, then glances at the kitchen island.
“What’s cooking, good-looking?” It’s the same thing she always says when I prepare us a meal and, every single time, it makes my heart sing—because it’s silly and affectionate and so very Avery all at once.
“A veggie noodle stir-fry,” I say.
“Sounds good, but not as good as this.” She curls her arms around me again and touches her lips to mine. Her velvet-warm tongue finds mine, and I welcome it with instant abandon.
A hand slips under my shirt. It’s warm against the small of my back and my whole body arches into her. I’ve already forgotten all about the vegetables I was chopping. All I can feel is Avery pressing against me—wanting and hungry, but not for the dinner I was making her.
“Frisky day on set?” I ask, in between kisses.
Avery doesn’t reply with words. Even though we have all the time in the world, she kisses me with an urgency that leaves me dizzy.
She walks us backward until my ass meets the edge of the kitchen island. Her knee slips between my thighs, coaxing them apart, and the moment our bodies align, something in me clenches. Her lips are insistent, and her hands quickly follow suit.
I moan softly into her mouth, my fingers clutching at the fabric of her shirt. I gave up a lot to be with Avery but in moments like this, it doesn’t feel like a loss.
Volunteering at the shelter, which Avery, in her own way, pushed me to do much quicker than I might have done on my own, has been eye-opening. I work with teens who have no home, no security, and no parent who loves them enough to accept them as they are.
At first, I rotated through every role: kitchen prep, group organizing, admin support. I needed the humility of learning from the ground up, of showing up without credentials or titles, just as Nic.
It took me a while to stop slipping into therapist mode. Old habits don’t vanish overnight. I had to teach myself how to just listen without steering, how to offer presence without probing. To just be with the kids.
One night, I made dinner for twelve teenagers with complicated pasts and unpredictable appetites.
It was a disaster—burnt rice and not enough tofu—but they still devoured every last bite, laughing around the table like they belonged somewhere.
It hit me then: healing doesn’t always look like a couch and a notebook.
Sometimes, it looks like a second helping of mediocre food.
It’s not glamorous work, but I’ve come to love it—not because it replaces what I had, but because it’s teaching me who I can be outside of my former practice. I don’t know what’s next for me, but for now, this is enough.
On the podcast, Avery revealed that being with me has changed her. The same goes for me.
Avery’s mouth moves to my neck, and my thoughts dissolve into nothing.
Slowly, she unbuttons my blouse as though she’s unwrapping the most precious present.
Every inch of skin she reveals feels like it’s waking up under her gaze.
She leans in, and her lips linger at my collarbone.
When her lips touch against my skin, my knees buckle.
She slips the blouse off my shoulders, then reaches behind my back with the typical Avery confidence that drove me crazy from the get-go. When my bra comes undone, she slowly slides the straps down my arms, her eyes never leaving mine. Between my legs, my clit roars for attention.
Avery dips her head and takes my nipple into her mouth, her tongue slow and hot. The jolt it sends through me is immediate and electric. I grip the edge of the island, trying to stay upright, but she’s not making it easy.
She lets go of my nipple and looks me in the eye.
Her hands trail down my sides until her fingertips graze just beneath the waistband of my jeans.
She unbuttons them without breaking eye contact.
When the zipper lowers, my breath catches and my body tightens in response.
I’m more than ready for whatever she’ll do next.
Her hand slips inside my panties, the heat of her palm maddeningly close to my throbbing clit. I try to push against her, try to make contact, but she pulls back.
“I’m going to devour you,” Avery whispers, and she’s so hot and intoxicating and fucking gorgeous, I’m already beside myself.
“We’re in the kitchen, after all.” The smirk she sends me makes my body ache with want.
Never in my wildest dreams have I ever imagined feeling like this again after Lois died.
I didn’t think I’d ever want anyone like this again—let alone allow myself to.
But Avery came into my life like a force of nature.
And here I am, undone in my own kitchen, trembling under her touch.
Avery sinks to her knees, taking the last of my clothes with her. She eases me out of my jeans and panties, and when she looks up at me, with her lips parted like that, I forget how to breathe.
I stand naked in my kitchen, pressed against the island where, not too long ago, I was cooking dinner, with my legs spread wide and Avery, on her knees, between them.
Avery presses a soft kiss against the inside of my thigh.
“I missed you today,” she whispers just loud enough for me to hear. “This was all I could think of all day.” She glances up at me. “God, how I want you.”
My knees buckle again because her words floor me. Her feelings for me floor me. Her head disappears between my thighs again and all I see is her blonde mane of hair. I dig my fingers into its softness. She responds by kissing my inner thigh again and again.
Her warm breath rushes over my pulsing clit and when her tongue finally touches it, the moan of pleasure that escapes me probably reverberates through the entire house.
Avery licks me slowly. Overwhelmed by the sensation of her mouth, I tip my head back.
Pure joy courses through me—the kind I had believed I had lost forever.
But it’s never too late. Not for joy and not for love, if you’re brave enough to let it in.
This asked for more courage than I believed I had—for a leap of faith I’d assumed I was too old and cynical to take.
But I let Avery slip in through the cracks I thought I’d sealed for good. And now, with her mouth on me, I know there’s no going back. We can only go forward, and it’s the only direction I want to go.
Even though, like every human on this planet, I can’t predict the future.
No matter your hopes and dreams, life will always be different than you imagined.
Hence Hollywood’s latest queer icon licking me to a thundering climax in my kitchen.
I have no way of knowing where we will be a year, or five years from now, but no matter what happens—and no matter how difficult it was to make—I will never regret my decision to choose her.
To choose love—like I know, with every fiber of my being, Lois would have wanted me to.
When Avery sucks me into her mouth, I shatter.
A ragged cry escapes me as her tongue circles me, relentlessly.
My body jerks against her face, my thighs tensing, my fingers tangle tightly in her hair, as the orgasm tears through me—raw, deep, and dizzying.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, and all I can do is fall apart against her—and be immensely grateful for this breathtaking, impossible second chance at love.