Sext God

“Oh, yes, yes,” I sigh, grinding against his mouth. My hands find the back of his head and I push my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to me. My thighs close over his shoulders as my body writhes against him, pushing me over the edge until I climax in a sudden shudder of joy.

“Delicious,” he sighs, wiping his mouth of the back of his hand as he pulls my skirt back down modestly over my thighs. I gasp for breath, trembling.

“Here, drink this,” he suggests softly, handing me a cool glass of water. I bring it to my lips and drink gratefully, feeling the temperature seep through my body like an autumn mist.

I feel him tugging gently on my hand. “I hate to tell you this, darling, but we need to be going,” he reminds me gently.

“Oh, right… the charity auction."

I try to gather my wits again, piecing it together through the fog that's entered my brain. Stubbornly, I push myself to my feet and stand there, wobbly and rickety as an old sailboat.

“You look perfect,” he sighs.

“No, I should shower? Change?”

“Don’t you dare,” he says with a wink.

The auction is in Arlington, a beautiful colonial town with a lot of politicians and celebrities. As we drive, I open my window to drink in the fragrant night air. He cherry blossoms are in bloom again, and the scent is notably intense tonight.

“Any new business?” he asks.

“Three calls today… would you like to go on a cruise?”

He sucks his teeth. “Well… are you telling me that you would like to go on a cruise, Dahlia?”

“Oh, I think I just might,” I admit. “Private yacht in the Mediterranean. Just for a week or so. Can we?”

“Hm. If you’re really excited, then I suppose we can.”

“I am very… very excited,” I assure him.

As he navigates the BMW through the cool evening air, I marvel at how everything is different. Just about six short months ago I was living with my father, struggling to keep my entry-level job, lonely and aimless.

Now I'm free to have as much ambition as I want. Free to explore the things I'm good at. August has been encouraging me to re-enroll at the University, to finish my degree in criminal justice. I feel like I can do that.

But first, I want to go to Malta. I want to go to Greece and his Pakistan. I'd like to see if the water really does flow the opposite direction and Australia if possible. August has opened up whole new world to me, one that only existed in YouTube videos before. People I followed on Instagram. I didn't know people really have this kind of life.

I finally get my wits back about me by the time we get to the valet. August opens my door and I climb out, taking his hand as we enter the event. We stroll the perimeter, observing before taking our seats. This is not actually security detail, it's simply an opportunity to network. But still, reconnaissance is always wise.

The atrium is arranged with dozens of tables with items on them, displayed artfully on velvet pedestals. Each one has a number, and the intention is to try to “buy” the item of your choice by bidding on that number. I find an antique-looking pendant in a small box, next to a small framed painting of a landscape. Halfway through the landscape, there's a small girl. I can barely make her out. She's wearing a bright pink dress, and I think she's blowing on a dandelion, wishing the seeds away.

“You see something you like?” August asks me, kissing the back of my neck lightly.

“This, I think,” I say, running my finger over the ridged frame of the small painting. “There's something about it…”

My voice chokes up at the end, and I swallow hard.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

“Excuse me, that is so weird. Sorry. It's just a pretty painting, is all.”

I glance up at him and shrug apologetically. I'm not sure why some little painting would make me feel like crying but…

Wait.

August writes down the number and takes my hand, pulling me gently toward the bidding table. He puts a note down on the corresponding sheet for the painting and smiles at me graciously. I'm distracted, counting backward mentally. Then I count again.

“Oh, they gave us a nice table,” he remarks. “Cabernet?”