We’ve all heard the term “stuff dreams are made of.” During my thirty years I’ve experienced a few things that would qualify as dream makers. Petty things, really, like buying my truck and paying cash for it. My first skateboard when I was eight. Dumb, tangible things that at the time felt to me as if life couldn’t get any better. Well let me tell you, everything pales in comparison to getting my hands on Sabrina’s skin and watching her come alive under my touch. That, my friends, is the real stuff that dreams are made of … and not just the wet kind either.
Since dropping her and Emmy off last night and sneaking in a tender and too brief goodnight kiss, I’ve been rock friggin’ hard. It probably doesn’t help that my skin still smells like her or that the visions in my head are still in full, vivid, high-definition color. Lying in bed with only my erection to keep me company, I can’t even drum up the energy to go make coffee. I need one thing and one thing only … Sabrina, wet and eager and wanting me as desperately as she did the night before.
My hand snakes under the sheet and wraps around my cock and for a brief moment, I imagine it’s her hand stroking me. For someone who’s been out of commission for a good long time, she blossomed fully to my touch, generously giving as well as receiving. Pulling from me a need I haven’t felt in … well, forever. This is not just a physical thing, though I admit I want her in every way possible. I want her splayed out across my sheets, begging for me to take her. I want her on her hands and knees, that perfectly rounded ass displayed and ready to receive the bite of my palm. I want her dripping, desperate, and willing to do whatever I want.
I want her to scream for me.
“Fuck,” I growl, working my cock in hard, fast strokes, just as she did the night before. Her name is on my lips as I come, once more spilling my seed over my fingers and onto my stomach. The fall is brief, the release even more so, which leaves me believing she has somehow bewitched my body as well as my heart.
Panting, I glance down at myself and shake my head. For Christ’s sake, I’m not some teenager having to resort to jerking off as my only form of pleasure. I’m a grown man with grown-up needs, one who happens to have a long address book filled with phone numbers of ladies who’d be more than willing to help me with my predicament. The thought of being with someone other than Sabrina, though, sure as hell takes the wind out of my sail so to speak.
Tossing off the sheet, I head into the bathroom to shower and ten minutes later I’m standing in my kitchen watching the coffee percolate. I’m just debating going to the gym when my phone rings, Sabrina’s number lighting up the screen.
“Morning, beautiful.”
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Well? That’s debatable. “I did. And you?”
There’s a long, lengthy pause, then she whispers, “Um, not really.”
Dropping down onto the couch, I prop my feet on the coffee table. “Regrets?”
She laughs. “No. Not at all.”
Sighing with relief, I can feel my treacherous body reawakening. “Good, I’m glad.”
“We got so … uh … distracted last night that I forgot to ask you if you’d like to come to Emmy’s birthday party next Saturday.”
“Distracted huh? Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”
Sabrina laughs and I hear what sounds like a door closing. “You know what I mean.”
“It’s pretty hard to forget.” Glancing down, I state, “Pretty hard in general.”
“I’ll say,” she whispers.
Interesting. Sounds to me like my reserved, businesslike beauty wants to play dirty. “Where are you right now?”
“In my bedroom. Why?”
“Go get your vibrator. I want to stay on the phone while you use it.”
She gasps and her voice lowers. “I can’t do that, Roman. Emmy is awake and in the other room.”
I find myself grinning wildly, contemplating the fact that her only protest is because she isn’t alone. “So if she weren’t there, would you?” I hear only the sound of breathing. “Tell me. Would you?”
“Yes.”
And I’m fully erect again. “Fuck. I’m never going to be able to leave my apartment.”
“What? Why not?”
Closing my eyes, I will my body under control. “Because walking around in public with a hard-on will get me arrested, that’s why.”
She starts to laugh. “Are you serious right now?”
“Sweetness, I’m always serious when I’m talking about my dick.” This makes her laugh even harder. “You’re doing wonders for my ego.”
“I’m sorry. Truly.”
“No you’re not, you little minx.” I need to divert this conversation away from sex right the fuck now, otherwise I’m going to be heading into round two of Roman loses his mind over a blond beauty. “Tell me about this birthday party.”
She gives me the quick rundown on the bowling birthday party for Miss Sweet Sixteen and after promising to give me a list of possible gifts for her, we spend a few minutes chatting about our plans for the day. She’s practically a different woman now, free and easy and relaxed, not at all like the uptight woman I’ve had my eye on for the past few years. I’m sure the orgasms she had last night with me have helped, but clearly she’s feeling more secure about whatever this is we have. It feels like a relationship to me, even though it remains undefined. Maybe that’s a good thing actually. It will give her more time to get used to the idea of being mine on a permanent basis.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
The hopeful lilt to her voice is all the encouragement I need. “Absolutely. Have a great day.”
“You too.”
My hopeful, good mood lasts the entire day and when I stroll into my parents’ house for dinner around five, I’ve finally got my body under control. Thank God too, because if either of my brothers caught wind of my current state, I’d never hear the end of it.
The house is silent, even though most of my sibling’s vehicles are parked outside. As I move into the kitchen, an odd feeling of fear races up my spine. There’s the usual chaos on the counters, pots and pans and such, but the vegetables are in mid-chop and a knife is lying precariously on the floor, alongside a dish towel.
With a sense of purpose I head down the hall and as I get closer to the master bedroom I hear the sound of murmured voices. Stepping up to the doorway, I can see my siblings huddled around the bed, Mama seated on the edge next to Papa.
“Hey. What’s going on?”
Every set of eyes turns in my direction, but its Marco who steps up to me, a hard expression on his face. “Papa’s not feeling well.”
“Did you call his doctor?”
He nods. “Yeah. Says we need to wait it out.”
“Wait what out?”
Marco shrugs. “Whatever the fu—whatever this is.” Even under these conditions, he’s careful to keep the swearing at bay for Mama’s sake.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Bella states, running into the room, stethoscope in hand. She’s still outfitted in scrubs, no doubt having been pulled directly off shift to handle this emergency. Not for the first time, I am so damn relieved we have a nurse in the family.
The entire group moves out of her way as she takes Papa’s pulse then listens to his heart. We’re silent as she places a call to his doctor, I presume, rattling off a bunch of medical mumbo jumbo stats that makes no sense. She does a lot of talking back and forth with Papa, Mama, and the doctor on the line, asks a few questions and eventually disconnects and stuffs the phone in her pocket.
“What did he say?” Cruz asks. He’s got a tight hold on Mia’s hand, and he keeps glancing down at her pale face.
“He thinks it’s probably just a virus, but he asked me to stay and monitor the situation. He’ll see Papa in the morning.”
“Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital?” Amita inquires, brown eyes wide with fear.
“Not yet.” She’s all professional nurse now, our sweet little sister nowhere to be found. “We need to let him rest.”
“I can stay with him,” I offer.
“I’ll stay with him for now.” She shoots me a determined look. “Go on. He needs to rest.”
Our subdued group retreats to the living room. Exhausted, we fall down onto the couch as if all the energy has been sucked out of us. Mia and Amita head into the kitchen to attempt to finish the meal, though I notice that Mia seems particularly pale and even a slight shade of green.
Concerned, I turn toward Cruz and ask, “Hey, man, is Mia okay? Maybe she has what Papa has.”
He shakes his head and offers a weak smile. “No, she doesn’t. She’s fine…” he glances at his wife then back to me “…or she will be in about seven months.”
Here’s the thing about guys that you might not know. We are very, very, very slow on the uptake when the obvious is staring us right in the face. Both Marco and I look at him like he’s sprouted a second head and one of us, maybe it is me, says a very profound “Huh?”
Cruz rolls his eyes. “She’s pregnant, you dimwits. She’s due in about seven months.” We must still look confused because he leans forward and speaks slowly this time. “She’s pregnant. She’s experiencing morning sickness. Can’t keep food down. Understand now?”
There’s that momentary understanding and then the lightbulb clicks on and the moment of “oh shit!” hits. Marco and I start high-fiving one another, slapping Cruz on the back and embracing Mia, right up until Cruz tells us to take a hike and leave his pregnant wife alone. Amita, sassy broad that she is, just stands there dishtowel in hand, smirking at us both.
“You two are idiots, you know that?” she murmurs.
“Have you told the parents?” Marco asks, looping his arms around his girl.
Mia shakes her head. “We weren’t planning on telling anyone just yet. But since Papa is ill, we decided we shouldn’t wait.”
I glance back and forth from her to my brothers. “Wait a minute, is this serious? I thought it was just a virus or something.”
Cruz sighs. “To a healthy person, a virus would be no big deal, but Papa has faced a lot the past few years. The bypass surgery and pneumonia have been hard on his body.”
Suddenly all the happiness I’d been feeling since last night starts to fade and reality slaps me hard in the face. Fear settles heavily over my chest and the ability to breathe is hampered by the knowledge that my father might never recover from this, his latest challenge. Granted, the man is in otherwise good health, but his body has surely been tested the past few years.
Glancing at my brothers, I whisper, “Are you saying he could die?”
Marco swears under his breath and pulls Amita into his arms, but Cruz stands tall and resolute. “I don’t know, Roman. He might. Or he might outlive us all.”
Bella strolls out, murmuring, “Cruz, Mama needs you.” She fills one glass with water and another with juice then glances at me. “Hey, you all right?”
My mouth drops open to speak but nothing comes out. I’m grateful she can read me so well, setting down the glasses and pulling me into an embrace. I wish that did the trick. I wish a simple hug from my sister or some wise words from my oldest brother could erase the terrifying fear that I feel on every level but it doesn’t.
“I need to get back in there.”
Nodding, I watch her move down the hall. Then I cross the room and step out onto the deck and into the hot summer sun. Warmth beats down on my face but the chill I’ve felt ever since walking into the bedroom remains. My hands are shaking as I step down onto the dock and ease myself into the boat. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial her number without hesitation.
She answers on the first ring. “Hey, I thought you were having dinner with your family?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Whatever she hears in my voice is evidence enough that something is wrong. “Roman, what’s the matter? Is everyone all right?” I give her the snapshot version of what’s happened then fall silent. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I just needed to hear your voice.”
She’s silent for a long, long time then finally says, “I can come over if that will help.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that, but Bella says he needs to rest. I’m not sure how long I’ll be allowed to stay.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind, please call.”
“I will. And tell Emmy not to bother coming in tomorrow. I’m not sure if I’ll even be there.”
“Of course. Please call me later and let me know how he’s doing.”
“Will do.”
Glancing around the boat, it is difficult to believe that things were so carefree and uncomplicated just a few short weeks ago. Now it seems like everything has changed; not only Papa’s health, but now my brother is going to be a dad and Sabrina and I … well, we’re making progress. It’s a stark reminder to me that nothing is predictable or certain and that everything is subject to change.
The evening moves on at a slow, snail’s pace with frequent checks on Papa and another call being placed to the doctor. No one eats much and finally around ten Amita takes Mia home for the night. Marco, Cruz, and I hold court in the living room, alternating pacing with dozing. We don’t talk, we don’t watch television, and we sure as hell don’t spout hopeful thoughts about the situation to one another.
It’s after midnight when I remember to call Sabrina and when she answers the sweet sound of her voice shatters me. Tears fill my eyes and spill down my face, and I’m thankful I decided to take my conversation back outside so my brothers are not witness to my breakdown.
“Oh God … Roman … are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”
“How’s your dad?”
“The same. Resting. Temp shot up a bit but its back down now. Bella and Mama are with him.” The tears flow steadily down my face as I tear my hand through my hair and pace back and forth along the dock.
“Did anyone call Sophia?”
I vaguely recall Mia mentioning a phone call placed to my baby sister. “Uh yeah, I think so.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“Yes. But please don’t. I don’t want you driving this late at night, and I don’t want you leaving Emmy all alone.” Inhaling a shaky breath, I attempt to get my emotions under control. “God, I’m such a mess.”
“You’re worried about your dad. Give yourself a break.”
“Thanks. I’m gonna let you get some sleep. I’ll call if there’s any change.”
Shoving the phone into my pocket, I stare out at the inky black water lit only by the shadow of the moon, which is somewhat hidden behind thick storm clouds. You can feel the electricity in the air, the rain that threatens, the balmy warmth that coats every surface. Sweat mixes with the tears I can’t seem to halt, although they do slow somewhat, which I suppose I can be thankful for. Christ, I had no idea I was such a fucking weakling, crying over my daddy being sick. Why can’t I be more like Cruz, completely unmoved by the entire thing … or Marco, who takes it all in stride? It seems like I’m always going to be the damn emotional one, the great romancer, the one with the feelings right at the surface.
Fuck, Moran, is now really the time for self-loathing?
I have no idea how long I stand there, staring out into nothingness and trying to get my emotions in check, but at some point I hear soft footsteps behind me, then warm arms slide around my waist and her cheek rests gently against my back. She says nothing, not one word, and probably that’s for the best. Talking isn’t necessary, not now. Right this moment all I need is the warmth of her embrace, the strength she offers me, and her silent understanding. Right this moment, I couldn’t ask for anything more.