Chapter 22
The fact that it’s taken this long for me to see Callahan’s place seems criminal.
A lot of the same furniture from Boston is here, like his real wood dining room table, and black velvet couch.
But there are little touches that speak to San Francisco.
The coffee machine, the bay window, and the built-in bookshelves, to name some.
While he makes shrimp alfredo, I go and look at his collection of novels.
It looks like mostly memoirs and mysteries. The memoirs at least seem to have diversity, but I don’t read anything but romance books, so I don’t recognize the rest. Still, the shelves are almost full.
“You really like to read, huh?”
“Mostly audiobooks, but if I like them, then I buy the physical copy. It’s easy to listen to a bunch when I’m driving around and working.”
I walk over to the kitchen, which is visible from the living room over the island. Watching his forearms flex as he moves around has to be its own porn category. I’ll add it to my favorites, right along with watching him smile at me shirtless.
“You should cook in your underwear.” I wag my eyebrows at him, biting my bottom lip.
Without a response, he tears off his shirt and pants, throwing them in a pile on the floor.
Shaking his pert ass, he puts on a little show, twisting and turning.
He has a little bit of a hard-on that strains against his briefs.
Catching me looking, he gives me that devilish grin that has my insides stirring.
Every day that passes with him, I find myself wanting to have sex more and more. While the urge isn’t there all the time, Callahan has made it so that my libido hasn’t disappeared entirely.
Just because I don’t want to have my bed rocked yet, doesn’t mean I can’t get him off.
“Done cooking?” I ask.
He nods, scraping the contents of the pan onto plates. Before he can move them to the table, I push him against the counter, pull down his underwear, and drop to my knees.
His dick swings up, and it’s so big it goes to his belly button. I gulp and stare up into his eyes.
He rubs a thumb down my cheek, landing on my lower lip. Grazing across it, he sticks it in a little and pushes my mouth open.
I stick out my tongue and lick down his thumb before sucking on it a little bit. Without me even touching his dick, he is throwing his head back at the sight of me alone.
I pop his thumb back out and grip onto the base of him. Angling the head down, I have to shift back to stop myself from getting hit in the face.
When it’s right at my lips, I flick my tongue out and lick up the drip of pre-cum at the head.
The salty taste makes me salivate. The way he is looking at me has a river practically running down my throat. Lubed and ready, I slide the head between my lips, sucking my cheeks around it.
Bobbing at just the top, I moan, letting him know how much I’m enjoying myself. He hisses, his hand coming to my face again in a gentle stroking grasp. Encouraged, I go down further until I can feel it hitting the back of my throat. With a deep breath in through my nose, I go until I hit the base.
I feel myself choking around it, but I hold still, letting him feel the convulsions. He moans, pressing in a little, prompting me to pull back. I slide it all the way out so I can see how much it’s glistening. Shiny with my efforts, I’m proud to see I got all of it in.
Loving the sight, I glide it back in, picking up the pace.
“Monty,” he calls out, gripping my braids. Thrusting to meet my pushes, I feel myself tearing up every time it goes all the way in. The way he calls out my name continuously prompts me to keep going. We take our time moving at a slow pace that lets him just enjoy it. He’s earned it.
I want him to feel how much I appreciate him.
I want to make him feel as good as he makes me feel.
With each long stroke of my tongue, I’m trying to show him what he means to me.
So when he pushes all the way in and cries out, I swallow every drop of his release.
Once it’s all out, he pulls free and pulls me up.
“Like the taste of me, love?”
“I don’t even think I need lunch now.” I rub my thumb across my lips to get the little bit that spilled out, before sucking on it, proving my point.
“Good, because it’s cold.”
He gets dressed and we eat. The rest of the afternoon is passed with us watching movies and playing video games. After watching me play Motherland a few more times, I convinced him to start with another favorite of mine, Ready Ranger.
He is surprisingly good at shooting people, so I do the exploring, and he does the fight scenes.
“At this rate, we are going to finish the game by next week,” I say while rolling up the chip bag.
“I think I’m going to get a system so you don’t have to bring yours back and forth.”
“And if we break up?” I bring all the snacks to the island.
“Then I’ll have something to do after work, Negative Nancy.” He kisses me on the forehead before pulling me into his arms.
“And if we get married?” I ask, biting my bottom lip.
“Then we can have one in our living room and bedroom.” With one more kiss on my neck, he steps back.
“You’re staying the night, right?” he asks.
“I don’t have my stuff.” Even though I have braids in, I still need my bonnet.
He holds up a finger and runs into his room, when he comes back he has sweats for me and a hair wrap.
“What?” My hands fly to my chest as a smile eclipses my face.
“I told you I’ve been doing research, and not just about your cancer. I don’t want the burden of my being educated to be on your shoulders.” He tosses it at me and I catch it, looking it over.
It’s satin and cheetah printed. He knows what I like.
“I’ll stay, but I have to leave early to take out my braids.”
“Do it here. I’ll help.”
I put on the pants and shirt he got for me, still completely in love with the fact that I fit his clothes.
“So, you have a fine-tooth comb, too?” I have to even tighten the pants to keep them from falling down.
“No, but I can go get it with breakfast if you want.”
“I have to go home at some point.”
“Do you?” He asks, wrapping me in his arms. “Because you can move in.”
It’s the start of August. I have known him for seven months, and have only been dating him for two. Moving in is too soon, and yet I want to. I pull free from him and go back to the couch. Patting the cushion next to me, I wait for him to come sit.
“You know when this is all over, probably next year, I’m moving back to LA.”
I wait for him to look surprised, or maybe even angry. Like me, he is probably wondering why we started this if that’s the case.
“I didn’t know what your plan was.” He pulls at the bottom of his beard.
“That is my plan. I’m still working out all the details, and it may not be until mid-year, because I have to save, but I have to.”
“Have, not want?”
I sit back and cross my legs, unsure of how to answer that. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to dance on stage anymore, but I don’t know what else I might want to do with dancing. Music videos and choreographing are options, but I don’t know if I should go to LA just for that.
Plus, is what my dad said true? Did getting cancer shift things for me?
It made me realize I was wasting time being in a relationship that wasn’t giving what this one is giving.
And if next year was my last, would I be okay being away from Callahan?
The thought of not waking up next to him, or seeing his face every day makes my chest tighten.
“I don’t know,” I say, looking at him like he has the answer.
“Well, think about it and we’ll figure things out once you know.”
He pulls me into his lap and starts tucking my hair into the scarf. I rest against him and let him do it, telling him when it’s tight enough. Once done, he lifts me up and carries me to bed.
I fall asleep in his arms, knowing this is the only thing I truly know that I want.
#
When we wake up, we get to work taking out the braids.
At first, Callahan’s chubby fingers suck at unraveling them. For every four that I do, he gets through one. Looking up at his little determined squint and puckered lips, I can’t help but be proud of him anyway. When he has a daughter, he is going to be the best dad a girl can ask for.
“I know you want a bunch of kids, but how do you feel about adopting?” I ask, watching him finally start to get the hang of it.
“Is that what you want to do?” he asks.
Having thoroughly avoided this topic since that night, I don’t know how to talk to him about the fact that I’m still unsure about having biological children. I don’t want to see disappointment reflected in his eyes if I tell him I don’t want to watch another woman carry our kids.
“Maybe. I don’t know about someone else having them.”
So happy to not be looking at him, I huff out my resisted tears. He twists my face, planting a kiss on my forehead.
“If we adopt, then we can have all of them at once.” He sounds so excited that it causes me to bark out a laugh.
“Callahan, be serious. How do you actually feel about not having kids that have your DNA?”
Despite what is best for me, I need to see if he is telling the truth.
“I’m being serious. I love the idea of adopting a bunch of siblings and keeping them together.”
I turn toward him and narrow my eyes. He sighs and slides onto the floor with me.
“A lot of people have reproductive issues. For all we know, I have slow sperm. It took Finn and his wife two years to have their baby, and she had to have blood transfusions because of RH incompatibility. Having a baby is super complicated. It’s not guaranteed for anyone.”
“Yeah, but it’s definitely guaranteed that I can’t get pregnant.” The quiver in my voice is disappointing. I’m just as mad at the watery sigh that follows it.