All Things Pretty (21 page)

After she clicks the belt closed, she meets
my eyes again. There’s a devilish sparkle in them that makes me
want to call a cab for Travis and haul her tasty ass right back to
my house. Pronto!

“I wondered why you were dressed like that,”
Travis says from behind me.

“While the cat’s away, the mice will play,”
I quip, sliding my eyes to Tommi.

Her cheeks are rosy with a blush and her
response is so quiet that I’m the only one who can hear. “Yes, they
will.”

Being the son of a cop and, now, myself a
cop, I obey the speed limit. Always have. Today, however, I violate
it at least three times that I know of in my hurry to get Travis to
school. Tommi’s worth a ticket. In fact, she’s worth several.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE- TOMMI

I feel like a prisoner who just got released
on probation. When I got Lance’s call this morning, I knew how I’d
spend my brief reprieve. There was no question.

I know it was supposed to be a one-time
thing with Sig, but after last night…I knew I’d need more. Now I
can have more, but without the risk.

Sig doesn’t say a word after Travis closes
the door and stomps up the concrete steps to school. He simply
shifts into drive and speeds back the way we came, making only two
different turns. The two turns that take us to his house rather
than mine.

From the moment he closes his front door
behind us, we are enveloped in an urgency that belies the fact that
we spent hours having sex last night. It’s like it never happened.
We are as eager to touch and taste and feel as we were the very
first time.

Sweaty and boneless, we take a break around
lunch when Sig drives me to my house to take care of Momma. I go
about everything with a happy tune playing in my mind and the
knowledge that Sig is waiting for me in the living room. It’s odd
that such a small thing would make such a difference, but it does.
For the first time since I was sixteen, I feel like everything
might just work out okay. Not because I have answers that I didn’t
have yesterday or because my plan has changed. I think this just
serves as a reminder of what I’m fighting for in the broader
sense.

Sig takes me back to his house and strips me
bare just inside the front door. With an eagerness that doesn’t
seem to wane, he sheaths himself with a condom, presses me up
against the cool wooden panel and entices moan after moan, scream
after scream from my body.

When I’m limp in his arms, his body and the
door the only things keeping me upright, Sig murmurs in my ear.
“Think you’ve got another one for me before we go pick up
Travis?”

Dear lord, this guy isn’t an animal; he’s a
machine.

“As much as I’d love to, I really don’t
think I can.” I feel sure that there is some sort of maximum climax
that a human body can achieve in a twenty-four hour period, and I’m
pretty sure that we’ve already met if not
exceeded
it.

“Never underestimate me,” he whispers,
peeling my back off the door and carrying me like I’m made of
glass. Down the short hall and into the bathroom, Sig deposits me
on my feet to stand on the toilet seat lid. “I have other things to
show you. Did I mention that?”

“No,” I admit, already feeling breathless
with anticipation, like I haven’t had countless orgasms
already.

Sig’s smile is devilish, pure and simple.
“Then let me tell you a little story.”

And he does. Less than an hour later, when
I’ve lost the feeling in my legs from the most mind-numbing orgasm
I’ve ever experienced, I realize that Sig was right. I should never
underestimate him.

********

Nothing about the day or the evening is
routine. From spending the morning and afternoon locked away in
Sig’s arms to picking up Travis from school and hearing the
suggestion that the three of us should go out to eat and see a
movie, everything is different.

I would’ve nipped it in the bud immediately
had Travis not seemed to so enjoy playing football with Sig. I know
he needs friends and a man around, but his Asperger’s makes it
challenging to integrate new things, which normally upset his
routine, which, in turn, upsets
him.
But after seeing the
enthusiasm on his face (which is a big step for Travis who hides
most every emotion behind the brim of his hat) and him asking with
big, soulful eyes, “Can we go?” I thought maybe it’s time to stop
guarding him so closely. He
is
growing up after all. And
this normalcy is what I want for him more than anything. So I
agree, knowing that it’s only a huge bonus that I get to spend more
time with Sig.

“We can go.”

I see Travis tightly controlling a smile
when he leans back against the cushion of the back seat.

And so goes the night. Sig drops us home,
giving me a wink that says he knows I need time to take care of my
mother. He promises that he’ll be back around five so we can eat
before a seven o’clock movie.

Everything goes off without a hitch. Travis
is so comfortable around Sig, it makes me second-guess holding him
so close. I hope desperately that I haven’t hurt him by going too
far in the other direction. But I can’t forget the months that he
spent away from me and how far his health–mental, emotional and
physical–declined.

Maybe it’s not too late,
I tell
myself as we’re leaving, Travis and Sig tossing a balled up wad of
napkins from the theater back and forth, challenging each other
over Harry Potter movie trivia.

“How do you know so much about Harry Potter?
Aren’t you a little old to be watching shit like that?”

“There’s no such thing as too old for Harry
Potter. And how dare you refer to HP movies as ‘shit like that’.
I’ll kick your ass, lil man.”

“Bring it, Conan,” Travis replies in the way
that boys do.

Sig puts his big hands on either side of
Travis’s skull and pretends to squeeze hard. “I will crush you!” he
says in a low, harsh voice that’s probably supposed to sound like a
movie character. Something that goes far above my head. I’ve never
had enough time or brain space for too many frivolous things like
movies and normal girl stuff. But I’m glad that Travis has.

Rather than making me feel bitter or
resentful, the thought brings me incredible peace, like maybe all
that I’ve done has helped him. Somehow. Just a little. Because
that’s all I’ve wanted–for him to grow up in as much of a normal
way as possible.

Their banter continues all the way home. Sig
catches my eye occasionally and gives me a wink or a warm smile
that says, no matter what else is going on, he hasn’t forgotten
what it feels like to kiss me. I get a little chill every time he
does it.

Back at our house, when I would otherwise
have said goodnight to Sig (at least until I could get away without
notice), Travis begs him to stay and play some video games. Sig
glances at me, as though asking if it’s okay. I nod
imperceptibly.

“Only if you’re okay with losing,” he tells
Travis.

“You wish, gangsta.”

I shake my head when they continue this all
the way up the walk and through the house to Travis’s room.

I look in on Momma and get her ready for the
night. Although it hasn’t been mentioned, I assume that I’ll sneak
my way to Sig’s at some point and sneak back home in the morning. I
won’t have to leave as early, though. Travis will sleep until at
least noon.

Some time later, a hand gently jostles me
awake and I shoot upright, glancing around at the clock behind my
head. Five minutes until midnight.

“Sorry,” I tell Sig as I stretch, trying to
wake up.

“Don’t be,” he whispers, sliding one hand
behind my back, the other under my knees and lifting me into his
arms. “I’m kidnapping you.”

I smile, hoping very much that this would
happen.

“Travis?” I ask.

“Fell asleep in his gaming chair. I put him
in his bed. He’ll be fine.”

I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling more
content than I have a right to, all things considered. “Then kidnap
away. As long as you have me home by morning.”

“As you wish,” he mutters, carrying me out
the door.

********

The hours run together like the muted colors
of an abstract painting. I’m blissfully unaware of time. I flow
through it like a ship through water, rather than stopping to
engage in the ever-present battle of wills that I normally
experience. Instead of dreading the morning when I have to go back
to Lance or counting the minutes until I can get home and be away
from him, I find myself enjoying the passage of every single one of
them.

When Sig and I are alone, his hands are on
me. His mouth, his body, his attention–they’re all mine. And I’m
all his. And when we’re not alone, there’s an easy thread that
seems to float invisibly between us, tying us together. Whether
he’s talking to Travis or throwing the Frisbee with him in the park
or the three of us are eating hot dogs from the rarely-used grill
in my back yard, there’s always this awareness that we share.
Sometimes when I’m watching him, he’ll sneak a glance my way, like
he can feel it. Or sometimes when he’s midsentence with Travis, his
head will turn toward me and he’ll wink, never missing a beat. It’s
as though no matter what else is going on, we are at the forefront
of each other’s mind.

After we eat, I pop some popcorn and we sit
down for a viewing of Anchorman one and two. According to Travis
and Sig, that fact that I haven’t seen either one is a travesty of
epic proportions and must be amended immediately. I laugh at
several things in the movie, but I think I laugh more at the two of
them quoting lines and adding their two cents, undoubtedly having
seen the films numerous times.

When Travis makes his way to bed, Sig sits
with me on the couch, his hand making lazy circles on my thigh
until Travis’s soft snoring can be heard. Then, although I’m
exhausted from so little sleep, I come instantly to a strange
alertness and I let him sweep me away again.

He doesn’t drive me straight to his house,
though. He goes past it and on to the park we visited earlier.
“What are we doing back here?” I ask, anxious to feel his skin
against mine and not really very enthused about any side trips that
will delay it.

“You’ll see.”

Sig takes my hand and leads me back to the
bench that I sat on while watching them play Frisbee today. It’s
bathed in moonlight rather than bright sunshine now and it looks
hauntingly beautiful, sitting here all alone in the night.

When he stops in front of it, I look up at
him in question. He sits down and spreads his legs, pulling me
between them.

“Every time I looked at you today, all I
could think about was what you’d look like naked, with the sun
pouring over your beautiful breasts, your face tipped up toward it,
riding me, coming on me. And letting me come in you.” He reaches
beneath my short, ruffled skirt and pulls my panties down. “Tell
me, Just Tommi, are you on the pill?”

When I feel his hand travel back up my
thigh, I reflexively spread my legs. “You don’t have to worry about
me getting pregnant.”

“Mmmm,” he says when his fingers find my
center. “That’s what I thought. And I’m sure you’ve been tested,
right?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my breath already coming
shorter. “Regularly. You?”

“Yes, ma’am. Nothing to worry about here. So
how about this?” he asks, driving two fingers into me. “How about
you let me love you in the moonlight instead?” As he speaks, he
withdraws his fingers and urges me toward him until I climb onto
the bench and straddle his hips. He unfastens his jeans and then
reaches for the laces that hold the front of my shirt together,
loosening them enough that it slides easily down my shoulders. He
unhooks my lace bra, baring my breasts for him. “Damn, you’re even
more perfect than I imagined you’d be. Skin like silk.” He strokes
the skin of my chest, teasing the swells of each breast, bringing
my nipples into throbbing points. “Nipples like candy.” He draws
one into his mouth, his free hand moving the head of his cock
between my folds. I feel my body squeezing, a silent plea for the
penetration that I know is coming. “A pussy like nothing I’ve ever
had before.”

At the end of that sentence, like
punctuation, he pulls me down over him like a human sheath. The
feel of him sliding into me, smooth as glass, is indescribable.

“God, you feel amazing. Like I knew you
would.”

Gently, he urges me up and down in him.
Slowly. So slowly, it’s maddening. When I would rush, he won’t let
me. When I would drop harder, he won’t let me. He continually moves
me on top of him in a deep, languorous rhythm that pushes me
steadily, infuriatingly toward release.

Sig leans forward, worshipping my nipples,
my neck, the curve of my arm, like he can’t get enough of me. He
murmurs words about how beautiful I am, about how he loves the way
I taste, the way I feel, about he could never tire of being inside
me.

When climax finds me, it finds us both. We
move together in a rhythm that never changes, only intensifies,
until I am breathlessly calling his name over and over and over,
and he’s jerking in my arms, spilling every last once of himself
deep within me.

We sit, motionless, for several long minutes
after the last waves have passed. Sig doesn’t release me, doesn’t
lessen his hold one bit. And I don’t want him to. Something about
the way he’s keeping me folded against him makes me think that I
will remember this night long after I might’ve forgotten the
others. Even though another voice mutters from the far recesses of
my soul that I won’t be able to forget a single moment of my time
with him. But somehow I know that there will be a significance to
this time that I’ll carry with me forever.