Twenty-One
Dinner with Jon and Milo had proved to be every bit as agonizing as Viola expected it would be, and she found herself thanking the highest God when the evening came to its much-anticipated end. She thanked that God a second time when, upon re-entering the darkened Moore house that evening, she didn’t find Robert sitting in the chair next to the door, waiting to catch them in the midst of another devious act. Exhaling in relief, she looked over her shoulder and waved Jon in from where he was lingering on the porch behind her. He stepped into the foyer with an unconscious Milo on his shoulder.
Sometime during the night it had no longer been necessary for Jon to force drinks down Milo’s throat, urging him not to worry about the bill because dinner was on him. Eventually, Milo had started ordering re-fills on his own. Even upgrading from red wine to tequila shots. He’d paid no mind when Viola warned him that red wine and Patron couldn’t possibly be a good mix, and the waiter had kept the re-fills coming with glee, happy to rack up what was sure to be his highest bill—and highest tip—of the night, until everyone at the table had lost track of just how much Milo’d had to drink.
The old wood slats creaked under Jon’s feet as he entered, even louder than usual, complaining as they fought to bear both Jon and Milo’s weight.
If the pitch-black house that greeted them was any indication, the entire family had already turned in for the night. Viola clicked on the foyer light while dropping her car keys in the catchall on the foyer table, hesitating when a picture sitting on the end of the table caught her eye.
She bent down to get a closer look at the picture that was in a frame made up entirely of dry penne noodles—probably a school project from Jackson or Beau.
“How have I never noticed this picture before?” she whispered, causing Jon’s footsteps to stop on his way to the staircase. “Has it been here the whole time?”
He began back toward her. “Been here since I was still living here, so yes…” His voice softened. “I actually made that frame. Fifth-grade art class. Surprised they kept it.”
She looked up at him over her shoulder. “I’m not.”
They held each other’s eyes in the semi-darkness before Viola broke hers away. They’d shared enough heated looks during that tense dinner to last her three lifetimes. She didn’t want to share any more. Not until he was in a better mood. Until he’d slept off the piss poor attitude that both he and Milo had been exhibiting all night.
“So Robert really was a guitar player back in the day, huh?” She ran the tip of her finger over the black and white photo of Jon’s father, probably when he was around Milo’s age. He was sitting on the edge of a twin-sized bed, in what looked like a college dorm room, with a guitar in his lap. His hair had been cut into a Mohawk that appeared to have been dyed platinum blond, and he had enough piercings in his nose, as well as his face, to open a small jewelry store. His brown eyes were as wide as saucers, like the person taking the picture had caught him off guard.
“Is he wearing eyeliner?” Viola laughed.
“Probably. He denies it, but… any guy who was in a college rock band in the seventies, who rocked a blonde Mohawk—un-ironically, was probably wearing eyeliner, yeah…”
“He was in a band? Are we sure this is the same Robert Moore we know and love and not some pod person? A long lost twin? A clone? You know they’re cloning people now, right?”
“Were they cloning people in the seventies?” He breathed out a laugh. “It’s definitely him.”
“Looks like a college dorm.”
“Notre Dame.”
Viola whistled, softly enough not to wake anyone. “Impressive. I didn’t know he graduated from Notre Dame.”
“He didn’t. Knocked my mom up freshman year and had to drop out.” Jon turned and began back toward the staircase.
Viola followed, sneaking looks at the photo of Robert over her shoulder the entire way before it moved out of her line of sight, careful to avoid the steps that tended to squeak extra loudly. The hem of her black midi cocktail dress was tight around her calves, causing her to trip several times on her way up the stairs, prompting Jon to shush her over his shoulder.
They managed to make it to the guest bedroom where Milo was sleeping, without waking the house, and Jon deposited him onto the bed without flipping on the bedside lamp, letting the moonlight be his guide. Still wearing all black, Jon nearly disappeared against the dark shadows of the room—his angelic face looking like it was floating in mid-air.
“This feels familiar,” Viola said, leaning on the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Yes, I do believe I leaned on this very doorframe and watched this very picture unfold on the night you told me to stay the hell away from you. What a difference two weeks makes, huh?”
“Keep your voice down,” he warned while rolling Milo onto his stomach. “And get his shoes.”
Viola moved to the foot of the bed to untie and remove Milo’s dress shoes while Jon wiggled Milo’s body out of his black suit jacket, leaving him in just his black slacks and white button-down shirt.
She pressed her hands on her hips. “God, is he breathing?”
Jon stood tall. “For now.”
Her gaze rose up to him. He somehow seemed taller in the darkness. More dominating.
She crossed her arms over her chest as he began slowly toward her, taking a healthy step back. She had no idea how close she was to the tall chest of draws behind her until she stumbled right into it, nearly losing her footing.
Jon didn’t miss a beat, continuing his pursuit until he was close enough to drown out the moonlight petering into the window behind him. Until she could no longer see the subtle intricacies in his eyes that always gave him away and told her what he was thinking, without fail.
She sucked in a breath. “Wanna tell me what that was about at dinner tonight? Quite the little show you put on there.”
“Wasn’t putting on a show.”
“Oh, no? So Milo was all alone during every course of that passive aggressive meal? He was throwing all those zingers by himself?”
His head lowered slightly, but again, she could barely see his eyes. She imagined he was looking her up and down. Making elevator eyes at her was his favorite pastime, after all. Especially now that they’d started sleeping together.
“If I wasn’t crazy.” She came to her toes. “I’d say Milo was right. I’d say you were a little jealous.”
She couldn’t see his eyes, but she did see his jaw shift, the moonlight dancing across the dark shadows of his cheekbones.
She gasped softly when his hand was on her waist unexpectedly. His touch sending shockwaves through her like it always did. Her body responded instantly, like it always did. Something about not being able to see where his hands were, or where they were going to go next, left her heart beating faster than she even knew it capable. Until every inch of her skin was pumping out of control, longing to be the next part of her he touched. Even if he had twenty hands, however, it still wouldn’t be enough to touch her as quickly and expediently as her body yearned to be touched by him. She was sure she’d never have a single second, or even breathe another breath, without the fantasies of his hands on her dominating her heart and soul.
When he cupped her shoulders and spun her, forcing her to face the dresser, her body accepted that with fevered glee too.
Even as her body had already surrendered, however, she still let her lips speak counterfeit words. “Not with Milo sleeping right behind us.”
Unmoved, he placed his hands on the dresser on either side of her, trapping her in from behind. He took a big step forward, pressing his chest against her back, his weight forcing her up against the dresser. She was immediately rocketed back to the night of the concert, up against the rails, working out one orgasm after the other on the hardness against her ass.
Even as the moment made saliva fill her throat, her body’s way of attempting to quench a thirst only he could fulfill, she managed to utter, “Any member of your family could walk in here and see us, and this time it might not be the two-year-old who’s easy to pay off.”
She gasped softly when her words only seemed to propel him forward even more, driving his body into hers while entangling their fingers on top of the dresser. Her limbs soon slackened as he drew his touch up her arms and over her shoulders, sparking a new blaze within her with each inch of her body he stroked. Her swelling breaths, her heaving stomach, her twitching thighs. Every caress skyrocketed her to a stratosphere where logic no longer existed. Where Milo wasn’t passed out in the bed right behind him or his entire family in the bedrooms outside in the hallway.
All she could see, all she could think, and all she could feel was blinding need that made her every limb quiver. The fact that the bedroom was too dark to see, only feel, didn’t help to quell her rapid loss of control, but served only to expedite it.
His hands drew a slow path down her thighs, clenching the area just above her knees before he dragged his fingers back up, letting his nails dig into her skin as he went, before sneaking under the hem of her black shift dress.
A soft whimper parted her lips, and she was digging her own fingers into the dresser and grinding against the hardness pressing against her back as his hands grazed over her belly. His skin on her skin. His warmth causing her hammering heart to climb up into her throat. Sending blood surging through her veins, ensuring every inch of her body grew hard and stiff in seconds. The dress rose with his hands as he guided it up her body, bunching up around her bare breasts as he cupped each one in a greedy hold.
The hard, sensitive nubs of nipples found themselves trapped between his fingers, rolling them, pinching them—locking onto and sucking at her earlobe while patiently kneading each one. Her body went into overdrive as it tried to juggle the breathtaking glory of his skillful hands massaging her breasts and the scorch of his lips moving down to her pulsating neck.
The smack of his lips grew audible against her neck, and some part of him must’ve still been distantly aware of the family Viola had long forgotten because he slowed his kisses to a crawl. Until no sound remained but the hushed sound of their gasping breath, filling the quiet air with the evidence of the blinding desire neither of them could resist.
Swallowing thickly, she let her head fall back onto his chest and ground against his erection, nestled firmly at her back. He must’ve spread his legs in the next second, bringing him down to her level because in the midst of swirling her hips his bulge was suddenly right where she needed it. Brushing the folds of her ass. Mere inches away from an entry that was now clenching with a need to be filled. She arched her back just enough to let his hardness tease her center, the feeling of his fingers massaging her nipples, his tongue lashing her neck, and his hardness teasing her canal enough to send her into a lust-filled frenzy. Her desire for him took her breath away, and it must have taken his too, short puffs of air tickling her neck between each of his heated kisses as if he too had to fight for each precious gulp of air.
He must have known it too, never one to keep her waiting, because he let one hand leave her breasts and slide back down her body, quickly finding a home nestled between her thighs. The tips of his fingers slipped into her soaking wet folds with ease and sank deep inside her while his thumb massaged her sensitive clit, causing every muscle in her body to squeeze to the point of breaking.
Viola nearly screamed as he swirled two fingers inside, all while rubbing her clit with his thumb, but bit her bottom lip just in time to quiet the burst. Her walls grew slicker with every moment his thick fingers plundered her, adding more every second until all four of his digits were submerged, all four hitting her g-spot. Lighting fire to her pussy and, in extension, every inch of her, as his calloused fingers stirred to life every nerve ending in her body. Her hammering heart remained in her neck and continued to pick up speed like it was on a mission to tear right through her gasping throat.
His hands left her throbbing canal and her aching breasts all at once, prompting a gentle whine to split her lips. The sound of his zipper coming down rang into the air before he slapped his hands back on top of hers on the dresser, the fingers on one of his hands still slick with her juices. As usual, he was hard enough to guide the crown of his rod to her entry with no guidance necessary, and in the next second, he was inside her, filling her to the hilt with one impassioned thrust. Their fingers entwined as he paused deep inside her, giving her body a moment to adjust to his size before he pulled out, just a breath, and propelled back in. Their fingers entwined atop the dresser, tightening with each ardent thrust until Viola’s digits felt on the verge of breaking. But she’d shoulder the break. She’d bear the pain. Anything to keep that man inside her, taking her, loving her, guiding her patiently to the spine-tingling peak that seemed to grow nearer with every pound and every long stroke of his dick.
The ball of fire at the pit of her stomach clenched tight, ensuring that her orgasm was near, and she arched her back in desperation to receive it. His heaving breath grew even heavier at what was surely the heavenly sight of her slender back bent, her thighs spread wide, and her ass slapping against his thighs as he worked. He clutched the back of her neck for leverage, knowing her peak was near, getting any leverage he could to pick up the pace of his hips and fuck her the way he’d learned she liked when her crescendo was approaching—when her hurricane was near, promising to rip away anything that didn’t aid her screaming, writhing orgasm in its blazing path through her body.
Viola’s breathing grew fractured as the ball in her stomach exploded, clinging onto the one arm Jon still had cradled on the dresser and biting down onto his bicep, sinking her teeth in deep as his thrusts drew a furious, desperate, and completely untamed explosion from a depth she didn’t even know her body was capable of reaching. A bliss that made her vision go shock white. A pleasure, so intense it bordered on agony. A place where she couldn’t decide if she wanted more of this forever or couldn’t bear another second. Her delighted screams were muffled in his bicep with each strike of his dick, his sinewy arm flexing against her lips as he took every jerk and twitch she had to give, drowning his hardness in her nectar.
He waited until her teeth had eased from his arm before caressing her jaw with his fingers, still deep inside her, her walls twitching against him in the wake of her breathtaking apex. Nudging her face softly, he waited until she was looking over her shoulder to crane his head forward. His soft lips found hers in the darkness, drawing her into a passionate kiss as he swirled his dick slowly inside her once more. His strokes recommenced, coming shorter and faster now that she’d cum, his tongue lashing against hers as his warm seed filled her.
Their fervent kiss ensured she swallowed his every choked gasp and moan as he reached his own peak, battling lips guaranteeing the lust-filled sounds rocketing from his mouth uncontrollably never had a chance to kiss the air.
Their lips continued to dance long after he’d softened and fallen from her wetness naturally. Neither of them thought to look toward the door or Milo’s bed to ensure they hadn’t been caught. All that existed in their world, at that moment, was each other.