"I'm going to fucking come down your throat, Jessica," I hiss. "You're going to swallow every last drop."
"Do it," she challenges. "Give it all to me, Nathan."
That's all the encouragement I need. I jerk my hips forward and yank on her hair as I feel the first rush of my desire shoot into her mouth. "God damn you, Jessica. Fuck me."
***
"Will you brush my hair for me?" She steps out of the steam filled washroom, the only towel covering her, wrapped tightly around her head. "I love when you do that for me."
I help her into one of the terry cloth robes I found hanging in the closet of our deluxe suite. She watches in silence as I roll up the arms and adjust the belt. It's obvious that the robe was designed for someone twice her size. "I'll get your hairbrush." I kiss her gently on her forehead. "You sit there, on the edge of the bed."
I don't look back as I turn into the washroom. I switch on the fan. The loud whir coming from it another indication of the age of the building. The torn and faded green wallpaper that drapes the area behind the mirror is damp from the steam. I race my hand over the mirror, staring at my reflection. I need to ask her. I've barely said two words to her since she blew me. She wanted me to take a shower with her but I couldn't. My mind kept imagining her down on her knees, with some faceless senator's cock stuffed down her throat. I have to clear the images away. I need to understand what he meant to her, and if her reluctance to commit to me is because she's still bound to him in her heart.
"Nathan?" Her soft voice carries through the doorway. "Did I forget to pack it?"
It? The fucking hairbrush. I rummage through the tote she packed all her products in. I wiggle my hand down to the bottom and pull out the hairbrush. "I've got it."
"I'm glad we can go home tomorrow," she says the moment I step back into the room. The towel is strewn across the bed now. Her wet, long blonde hair clings to her face. The imperfection of the strands only adds to her beauty. When she's like this, natural and exposed, I feel as though there's nothing that can ever come between us. She knows the worst in me and still looks at me with more love in her eyes than I ever knew existed. Now, I have to break open something that she's buried within her. I keep telling myself that if the senator was an important part of her life that she would have brought him up. Honestly, she never talks about her past. It's always been a mystery to me.
I pull the brush tenderly through her hair, working through the small knots in silence. Her breathing is slow, strong and calm. She moves slightly each time the brush gets caught.
"Are you okay?" she asks softly.
It's the question I knew was coming. I don't lie to Jessica. I've skirted around the truth in the past and it's always been a disaster. She expects utter and complete honesty from me and I want to give that to her. I need to. I can't let this fester inside of me anymore. It's fucking driving me crazy imagining every possible scenario there is. I need to ask her about the senator so she can tell me it was a forgettable blip in her past. I want her to tell me that she can't even remember his name.
Her head dips slightly forward and the brush tangles in a strand. Her hand instinctively darts to the spot. "That hurt, Nathan."
I don't want her to say my name right now. It makes me weak. I can't feel weak for this. "I'm sorry." The words are meant to sound more genuine than they do. "I'll be more careful."
She pulls her feet onto the bed, circling her arms around her knees. ""Something's bothering you. No secrets, remember?"
The words tear through me. I'm not the one with the secret. It's her. "No secrets," I repeat in a barely audible tone. "I don't want there to be secrets."
Her breathing stalls. I watch her shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of the robe. "Do you have a secret?" The question is calm and sensitive. She's not jumping up to her feet or to any conclusions at all. She's grown in trust. She knows my life is hers and that everything is an open book.
"You do," I say without thought. This isn't how I wanted the conversation to go. I didn't want to throw this at her from left field before she was ready to catch it. I'm giving her little time to prepare. It's a tactic I use constantly in the courtroom, but Jessica isn't on trial. I have to stop assuming she's guilty of anything but caring for a man years before she met me.
"What?" She spins around so swiftly that the brush drops from my hand and onto the floor.
"I'll get that." I reach down knowing that I don't give a fuck about the brush. I need a minute to compose myself before I look into her eyes. I need to confront her about something that likely has no meaning anymore to her. I feel movement on the bed.
She's on her feet, pulling the robe tightly around her. I glance up to see her tucking the front of the robe together, covering the exposed skin of her chest. "Is this about my dad?"
Her dad? She hasn't spoke of him in months. I did wonder, briefly, why he wasn't at her sister's wedding but one thing I've learned about Jessica is that she won't share if she's not ready to. I've never pushed her about her relationship with her father. I won't. "Your dad?" I parrot back, knowing that I should correct her immediately and ask about the senator. That's the right thing to do. It's what I want to do, but I sit on the edge of the bed, frozen.
"He wasn't at the wedding." She fidgets, moving back and forth from one foot to the other. It's something she's always done when she's emotionally uncomfortable.
"I noticed," I whisper. Why am I letting this conversation continue? It's become obvious, just from the time I've spent here with her family that none of them value their relationship with her dad. I don't think I heard anyone bring up his name once.
She pulls in a heavy breath before letting it seep slowly out between her lips. "My parents hate each other."
I want to leap to my feet and wrap her in my arms. She's shaking. "Jessica, let's not talk about them."
"He abandoned all of us." Her bottom lip quivers with the words. "It happened right b
efore my sister graduated from high school. He left. One day he just moved without any real explanation."
My heart breaks at the words. I know his leaving impacted her deeply. I can see it now, within the expression on her face. "That must have been really hard for all of you," I say, quietly. I want to be supportive and loving. I want to be that compassionate guy who holds his girlfriend as she confesses about her past pain.