“Don’t stop,” she gasps.
Hell, no, I won’t stop.
We work together—her between her legs, me at her breasts, conspiring to bring her pleasure. She’s writhing under her own hands, under my lips. I want her to come all over my sheets. The scent of her hair, the sweetness of her body—I want them to linger in this bed for days after she’s gone.
“Fuck,” she says on an expelled breath, her mouth falling open and her head pressing deep into my pillow while her body quakes and shudders.
When she quiets, I turn her over gently to feather kisses down the zipper decorating her spine, and the small flowers running along the sides.
Damn, her ass is perfect. I squeeze both round, firm globes and she gasps. I slide my finger between her cheeks and down to her pussy, spreading the juices she just poured out over the lips and then over her asshole, not daring to stick my finger in. We haven’t even had sex yet, much less anal. Lotus may not even be into that, though judging by the way she pushes her ass against the pressure of my finger and moans, she may be open-minded.
“You eat ass?” she asks suddenly, and I know she’s trying to throw me off.
“I’d eat yours,” I reply truthfully. Because there is no part of her that would not be good to me.
We both seem to find that really funny and crack up laughing. I flip her back over and pull her into me so I can feel the vibration of her happiness. I’m tickling her sides when a noise catches my attention.
“Did you hear that?” I ask, pausing, my fingers poised over her stomach.
“Yeah. Like a door?” She sits up. “Sounds like someone came into the apartment.”
“Nobody has a key, but . . .” I hop off the bed. “That has to be Simone. She’s the only one with a key.”
“Crap,” Lotus says under her breath, scrambling to get her top and skirt back on. Horror dawns on her face. “Kenan, my shoes and panties are still at the door.”
“And my pants,” I groan. “Dammit.”
I slip on sweatpants and a T-shirt, and make my way quickly to the front room. Dr. Packer had a family emergency and cancelled our last session, so we still haven’t talked to Simone about Lotus. I’d almost rather find a burglar than my daughter in the apartment right now, but it’s Bridget and Simone standing beside the pile of clothes we discarded in the foyer. Simone stares at Lotus’s panties, purse, and shoes. Bridget looks smug and furious.
“I don’t remember you being quite this sloppy, Kenan,” Bridget says, kicking our things out of their path. “Or having feet quite this small.”
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my own anger out of my voice in front of Simone. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I walk over and kiss Simone’s forehead.
“Morning, Moni,” I say, love-swiping her face. “I thought you had dance.”
She nods, her eyes still on Lotus’s things. “I skipped because I wanted to see Aunt Ken play.”
“I called,” Bridget says with a note of defensiveness, “but it rolled into voicemail.”
“When?” I frown at her. “I didn’t get any message. When did you call?”
“Earlier,” she says vaguely.
I’m sure she’s playing games again. I’m so sick of it.
“Whose things are those, Daddy?” Simone asks, her voice subdued, her eyes downcast.
I’m kicking myself. Yes, Bridget shouldn’t have barged into my place, but the weight of Simone’s sadness presses on me. I wish I’d pushed to have the conversation with Dr. Packer sooner, or waited to move forward with Lotus, though that’s hard to imagine given how badly I want her. My daughter is once again caught in her parents’ crosshairs—Bridget’s spitefulness and my carelessness, my lack of control. However we got to this juncture, we’re here now, and I can’t lie to her. She’s fourteen, not four. I need to respect her intelligence and the fact that she’s been exposed to a lot more than I had at her age.
“Do you remember the woman I introduced you to at the restaurant?” I ask, watching her face for signs of recognition.
“Lotus,” she says, meeting my eyes and nodding.
“Yeah. She and I are dating, Moni. She’s my girlfriend.”
Bridget gasps, and her frustration and anger grip me like a hand at my throat.