Chapter 22You don’t have to last for me, baby
twenty-two
. . .
you don’t have to last for me, baby
“Oh my god,” I hear myself say those three words over and over, but they don’t really have any meaning as I continue to repeat them, hands stacked over my heart.
“Miller, I’m so sorry, I was reading it, yes, I mean, I’m so sorry I opened your private thing and read it.
That was wrong of me. I just saw the one on top wasn’t addressed or sealed, and oh god.
I’m sorry.” My hands are now cradling my head as I shake it hard, tears starting to fall.
Great. Now not only am I a snoop but I’m the girl who cries to get out of things.
“I’m not crying to make you feel bad,” I say, still unable to look up at him through the heavy tears. “I swear I’m not. I just, I feel so bad that you walked out. I was going to put it back and ask and—oh god. I’m not a snoop. I swear. I just… I saw Dad and… I just ached to know more.”
It’s the only way I know how to describe how I felt when I saw that box. Immediately I wondered if it wasn’t holiday decor or maybe even something for Salsa, but when I thought back, I remember that box being there every time I’d been at Miller’s before. So I knew something was inside.
Salsa jumped down for a drink which had me thinking I’d get a drink.
But I didn’t even make it that far because I spotted the box when I got to the edge of the island near his small desk.
When I lifted the lid and found hundreds of letters, I was curious.
The one on top, however, just said “dad” on it.
And that’s when I knew exactly what I was looking at.
Before reaching for that one single letter, I knew it was a box of letters that Miller had written his father, maybe even his family.
I didn’t dig around, and I didn’t open any of them except the one on top. It wasn’t sealed, and the rest were, so I slid it out of the envelope and started to read.
My heart grew fractured for my sweet boy the more I read, and the more I hurt for him, the more I became unable to ignore the letter.
Dear Dad,
The last letter I wrote was going to be my last one for good. But I realized something today, and I thought it was as good of a note as any to go out on.
The girl I told you about? The one I fell in love with? The one who loves me back?
Well, I decided today that even though we aren’t married or even near that stage yet, I want to move on. And I want to do it with her.
It’s time for me to live. Really live. And no part of my life included writing letters to someone who is as good as a ghost.
I’m quitting my past to live in my future, and I don’t know if I even care if you understand.
I’m happy, I’m healthy, and I have love. That’s my parting gift to you, that knowledge.
Take care of yourself and mom.
Your son always,
Miller
I’d just read the last line when he came out. He startled me, and I dropped the letter, and now we’re here, Miller silent, me full of remorse for further hurting a soul who deserves no pain.
Finally, I take a breath and look up at him, wiping tears from my cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby, I really am. I just… I wanted to get to know you better. ”
Carefully, he replaces the letter in the box and nods for me to come into the kitchen.
Easily, he grabs me by the waist and lifts me to the counter.
As he bends over, I watch his perfect ass turn to stone, sorting through stuff on the fridge shelves.
Next to me, he sets down a large tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and a bottle of champagne.
I stay silent, watching the strength in his forearm as he uncorks the champagne and pours us each a small cup. Passing me the glass, he takes a short sip of his, then locks onto me with a beautifully intense gaze.
“First of all, I want you to know, I’m not angry that you read that letter.
If anything, I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that my relationship with my father exists in a box and really only goes one way.
I’m embarrassed that I couldn’t see my own good qualities and will probably always struggle with ideas of worth because of the way they let me go without so much as a word.
I’m embarrassed that instead of talking to you, I made you feel unsure of parts of me, and you had to take it upon yourself to try and learn. ”
He lifts his glass, tossing back the rest of the bubbly in a few eye-watering mouthfuls.
“I know you weren’t trying to be sneaky or nosey.
I know you just want to know me, Laney, and I want that, too.
” Lifting a strawberry, he feeds it to me before I can even ask why he has chocolate-covered strawberries.
When I’m done chewing, he kisses me, sweeping his tongue through my mouth, moaning at the second-hand discovery of flavors.
“If there’s anything you want to know, and I don’t mean just like, right now but in general, if we’re ever somewhere and you think of a question or just…
get curious about something,” he says, carefully selecting another strawberry which he feeds to me, all while keeping his eyes zeroed in on the wa y my mouth seals around the fruit.
“I want you to know; you can ask. Okay?”
I nod because he’s still feeding me juicy, delicious, chocolate-covered fruit.
“I wrote him a letter every time I felt lost or down, initially. Then I just wanted to have someone to tell things to, and a father seemed like the right person, so… I wrote him. I wrote him a lot those first three years because those were the years I was struggling the most. I was in therapy, but still, times were bleak.” He pops a strawberry into his mouth, and I find his hand and begin stroking it with my thumb, wanting to give him anything soothing.
“Then I kept on writing to him. Sometimes every day.” He pours us each a little more champagne, and I can’t help but notice the pink staining his cheeks, both from the shower and the booze.
He shifts weight on his feet, one of his hands still captured by mine as I continue to stroke the top of his palm tenderly.
Then I realize… he’s still got the plug in.
My sexy, sweet good boy.
“Anyway, I decided, as you can see, that I’m done with the letter writing. I was thinking of actually… throwing them all out.”
I look over at the huge box and back to Miller. “You wouldn’t want to mail them?”
His lips turn down in a frown. “Na. I think those letters were more for me.”
“How so?”
He leans his hip against the counter. “Well, I think deep down, writing the letter gave me some temporary comfort. Made me feel like he was close in some fucked up way. And it made me feel less alone.”
Tears stream down my cheeks, but I ignore them as I pinch his hips with my knees, reaching out and bringing him into my embrace.
With my cheek to his heart, I hold him tight and say, “I’m so sorry you went through that.
But you don’t ever have to be alone again.
I promise.” The way he hugs me back so tightly has the tears flowing more freely.
“I love you, Delane. And I’m not mad. You can go through anything in this apartment because there’s nothing I want to keep from you. Ever.” I pinch his chin and kiss his lips before he adds, “what’s mine is yours.”
I wiggle my brow, feeling a nice transition to getting him naked because, after a long day of work and a mini emotional roller coaster ride, I definitely want him to feel what a good boy he’s been.
“That’s true. After all, your orgasms belong to me.” I grin, and his eyes darken as he lets a low, wild noise free from his gut. “Wanna go to your room?”
Grabbing me by the hips, he lifts me off the counter and slings me over his shoulder. “Fuck yes, I do.”
“Tell me,” my command is a shattered rasp, my thighs trembling as I hold myself over Miller’s face.
“I can hold it.” I look down to see his eyes wide, completely lost in my spread, bare pussy. Over my shoulder, I glance at his meaty pink cock and the precum threading between the dark slit on his head and his trembling, muscled belly.
“Are you sure?” As I reach back, I draw out the question, dragging my fingernails along his hot, needy skin. He nods his head fervently.
Slowly, I lower myself back onto his mouth, immediately stroking my fingers through his full head of silky, soft hair as he feasts on my warm, pulsing center.
“That feels so good,” I praise, loving how he groans when I do.
“Good boy,” I whimper, playing with his hair because I’m ready to cum and trying desperately to put it off.
I never want this to end. Writhing over him as he strains not to cum from eating me.
Seriously, how hot is that? There is no better feeling than looking down at a brawny, broad-chested man with a cock and nice abs straining not to skyrocket his release all over himself because your pussy tastes so good.
It’s a drug, and it’s all I want for the rest of my life.
“Don’t cum, and I’ll fuck you,” I whimper, riding him faster, sweat slippery along my spine. The wide pad of his tongue presses against my clit in rhythmic pulses, along with his jagged breaths and broken moans. I know he’s close. I can hear the desperation crawling in each of his moans.
Pressure coils like a venomous snake inside my gut, and before I know it, I’m clawing at his shoulders, head back.
“I’m cumming,” I moan as my thighs quiver, my movements slowing as my orgasm explodes.
“Don’t cum,” I warn him as my eyes roll shut and my pussy squeezes all around his tongue, a throaty growl trapped in his throat as he lets me fuck his tongue the way I ride his cock.