If You Stay (20 page)

Madison looks at me sympathetically.  “I know how you feel.  I was like that last week.  I miss them so much.”

Her eyes turn watery, but she moves away, toward the kitchen.  Madison isn’t much of a crier.  She waves her hand.  “You know where to find it. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

She leaves me alone and I pad down the hall to our parent’s bedroom. Even though it’s the master bedroom, Maddy couldn’t bring herself to clean it out and sleep in there.  She’s kept her old bedroom, keeping mom and dad’s exactly as it was.

As I walk in, it is so quiet that it seems almost reverent. If I close my eyes, I try to pretend that I can smell my mom’s perfume lingering here.  But of course I can’t.  They died several years ago.  Her scent is long gone. 

But her memories aren’t. 

I slide open the top drawer of her dresser and pull it out, carrying it to the bed. As I sit on the flowered bedspread, I can remember so many afternoons after school spent in here with her, sitting on the bed as she readied for work at The Hill.  She’d sit at her vanity and curl her hair, spritz on perfume and talk with me about my day. 

God, I miss her.

I sift through the pictures in her drawer first.  They are in informal stacks, held together with old rubber-bands.  Black and white ones from her youth, faded ones from mine.  My favorite picture is here, the one of my dad and I both holding up huge fish that we’d caught in Lake Michigan on one perfect summer day.  I was eight years old and had a chocolate mustache and he’s wearing his floppy fishing hat. 

I smile at the memory. 

That was a really good day.  Mom and Maddy had sat on the beach because they were squeamish about the fish and bait.  Dad had slugged me on the shoulder and we had fished for hours.  I had felt so important because I had a strong-stomach and could be his companion.

I put it back in the pile and replace the worn rubber band. 

I finger through old love letters from my father to her, and even old letters from my grandmother.  My mother kept everything and was a sentimental at heart.  At times like this, I’m so thankful for that. 

As I move the drawer, I hear a rolling sound.  I feel around and find a ring in the corner.  It’s a wide band made from rose-colored gold and on the inside,
Love Never Fails
is inscribed.  My chest tightens.  I remember this ring. It was mom’s original wedding ring.  She had to stop wearing it after she had Maddy because it became too small. And then Daddy had gotten her a fancy diamond and she started wearing that instead.

But now, holding this simple ring in my hand, I feel buoyed somehow. 
Love never fails.
  What a strong sentiment.  Just holding the cool metal in my hand makes me feel good, connected to my parents somehow.  I slip it onto the ring finger of my right hand.  It’s a perfect fit. 

I slide the drawer back into the dresser and find Maddy in the kitchen. 

“Do you mind if I keep this?” I ask her, holding out my hand.  “It’s mom’s original wedding band.”

Maddy shakes her head.  “Of course not.  You gave me her diamond.  It’s only fair.”  She smiles at me now with her best big-sister grin and I can’t help but give her a hug.

“I love you, you know,” I tell her as we settle into her kitchen chairs, our elbows propped on the table.  “Mom and dad would be really proud of you.”

She smiles at me again and sips her chocolate.  “Thank you.  They’d be proud of you, too.  They always were.”

I lean into her and try to steal her cup and she slaps my hand away.

“How many of those have you had, anyway?” I demand jokingly.  “Surely you can spare one cup for me.”

“I already did,” she answers.  “And I’ve probably had enough.  But can you ever really have too much chocolate?”  She waggles her eyebrows and laughs and we chat for what seems like forever. 

After we talk about The Hill, Tony, my shop, Madison’s new car and the dog that she is thinking of getting, she turns to me and looks thoughtful. 

“How are things with Pax?”

I roll my eyes.  “As if you care.”

“I do,” she insists.  “I’m still worried, but I’m less worried now than I was.  He seems to make you happy.  And I really do want you to be happy, little sis.”

She wraps her slender arm around my shoulder and squeezes.  I sniff at her.

“Did you put deodorant on today?  Because you kind of smell.” 

We giggle and she slugs me and all feels right in the world. 

We sit in her kitchen and talk until dark.

Chapter Eighteen

My phone buzzes.  As I pick it up, I notice that it is 7:05 p.m.

Crap.  I was supposed to meet Pax at 7:00.  Time got away from me. 

Sure enough, I glance at the text and it is from him.

Hey, Miss Tardy.  Didn’t we have a date tonight?

I seriously hate to be late.  As in, so freaking much.  I’ve always been that way.  So I punch in a reply, hit send and am pulling my coat on as I run out the door.  “I’m late, Maddy. Gotta go, bye.”

I can hear her laughing as I slam the door closed behind me.

I pull into Pax’s drive ten minutes later, and am galloping to the door when he sticks his head out the door and laughs.

“You look like a lame horse, Red.  Calm down before you fall and break something.”

I step up onto the step and kiss him, my cold lips pressing to his warm ones. He looks sexy as hell, like he does on any other day, in his jeans that fit his ass perfectly and the black t-shirt that hugs his chest.  I lean into him, soaking in his warmth.  He smells like musk, and the woods and everything male.  I inhale him and wrap my arms around his neck. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell him as I kiss him by the ear.  “Trust me, there’s no place I’d rather be than here.”

“Really?” he cocks an eyebrow.  “Then we agree. Because there’s no place I’d rather have you be, either.”

I roll my eyes at his corniness as we walk into his foyer.  But then I push him against the wall and kiss him again, just because I want to.  He drags me against him and I linger there, in the comfort of his arms.  Holy cow.  There really isn’t anywhere I’d rather be than here.

Finally, I sigh.  “So, it was your turn to plan our date tonight.  What are we doing? Want to order take-out?”

He shakes his head.  “I’m hungry for fried zucchini.  So I thought we’d try to make it.”

I stare at him.  “You thought we’d try to make fried zucchini?  Um.  I should mention that my family owns a restaurant, but I don’t really cook.  Much.  And who in the world gets hungry for zucchini?”

Pax laughs and drags me up the stairs. “My housekeeper used to make it when I was growing up.  I loved it.  So I looked for the recipe online today.  I went to the grocery store and everything.  What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Now you’ve done it,” I grumble as I take off my coat.  “You should never ask that question.”

Ten minutes later, we are both staring uncertainly at a recipe and a pan of oil on the stove.  Everything in Pax’s kitchen is gleaming and new.  He’s clearly never used it and doesn’t know how.  And I’m no better. 

“I’m not sure about this,” I tell him as the oil spits and sputters everywhere. 

He watches it for a minute.  “I think the oil is too hot,” he decides and he turns the flame down just a bit.  We roll the sliced zucchini in the flour mixture and drop it into the pan and it sizzles.  

We look at each other.  “Looks fine,” he shrugs. “I think we did it right.”

He turns to me.  “Now, where were we in the foyer?”

He reaches for me, pinning me against the granite counter.  I smile. 

“You realize, of course, that you look really out of place in the kitchen?”

I raise an eyebrow.  He grins. 

“I thought women wanted men who could cook?”

“If so, I’m probably out of luck,” I tell him as I press my lips to his.  He laughs, which rumbles in his chest and he lifts me up, sitting me on the counter. I automatically wrap my legs around him.

“It’s where my legs belong, right?” I remind him.  He nods. 

“You’re learning.”

“Oh, I’m a good learner,” I tell him with a grin as an idea occurs to me.  “Wanna see?

I trail my fingers down to the button on his jeans and flick it open with one deft movement.

“Impressive,” he says, cocking an eyebrow teasingly.  “But now what are you going to do?  I think you already know how to use that.”

“Maybe,” I answer.  “But I haven’t mastered everything.  And every good student needs a teacher.”

He stares at me as I slide off the counter and pull his pants off, then his underwear.  And then I drop to my knees in front of him.

His eyes widen. 

“You’re going to…” his voice trails off as I take him in my hand, sliding my fingers down his length.  His penis lurches to life, instantly rock hard. I smile.

I look up at him.  “I’m sure I have the mechanics down, but everyone has preferences, don’t you agree?”  He nods wordlessly, his eyes frozen to mine as I grasp him firmly in my hand.  “So I want you to tell me exactly how you like oral sex.”

He’s frozen, his hands limp on my shoulders. 

“Well, you should start by repeating that question, but instead of saying oral sex, say, ‘Tell me exactly how to suck your dick’.  No, wait.  Say cock.  Because that word coming from your lips will be fucking hot.”

I smile at the eager look on his face.  I love how he is so big and tattooed, but I can turn him on and make him speechless with just one little word.  And saying that one naughty little word is turning me on, quite frankly. 

“Okay, I’ll play.  Tell me, Pax.  How do you want me to suck your cock?”

He stiffens, in more ways than one.  He just got harder in my hand, although I didn’t know that was possible. 

“Cat got your tongue?” I tease, as I lower my head and run my tongue along his shaft.  “It doesn’t have mine.”

He shudders as I run my tongue around the tip, then lick down the back, then back up, like I’m licking a lollipop. 

“You’re a freaking vixen,” he mutters.  “You know what you’re doing.”

“I do.  But tell me what you’d
really
like,” I prompt him, as I stroke him with my fingers again.  “I want to know.”

He swallows and closes his eyes, leaning back against the counter, his hands gripping the edge.  He pushes further into my mouth.

“Okay, Red.  I like it when you take all of me in your mouth.  I want you to deep-throat me.  If you can handle it.”

He says the last part like a dare. 

I want to smile, but don’t.  He continues speaking, his voice husky.

“While you suck me, I want you to squeeze my balls, just a little.  Tug on them. 
Lightly.
  Push your fingers against me right behind my ball sack and pull.  Lightly, not too hard.”

He shudders again when I do as he says.  I pull his balls toward my mouth, just slightly.

I inch my lips along his length, working the entire thing into my mouth. I feel like he is practically scraping the back of my throat, but I don’t gag. I just concentrate on keeping my teeth from scraping him as I slide him in and out. 

“Fuck,” he groans, gripping the stone counter.  “
Fuck.”

I make sure my lips form a good vacuum and continue sucking, sliding, moving.  I stroke his balls and pull at them and Pax’s breathing gets more and more ragged. 

And then, with his balls cupped in my hand, I suck on them.

He tenses up completely, his knuckles turning white.  “Fuck.”

I smile now as I lick at them, then suck.  Then lick.

Then I plunge his dick back in my mouth, all the way.  In, out, wet. 

I increase my speed and he finally yanks me away by my shoulders. 

“I’m going to come,” he tells me raggedly.  “And I want to come inside of you.”

I yank off my clothes and he rolls me onto all fours, sliding into me from behind.

He fills me up, the friction nail-bitingly hot. He rocks me to and fro as he leans over me, pressing his lips to my ear.

“Tell me to fuck you harder,” he whispers. 

“Fuck me harder,” I say obediently and my voice is strained.  It’s hard to form thought, let alone words while he is doing what he’s doing.

As he slides in and out, he reaches around to my front, spinning circles around the most sensitive part of me.  Then he presses his hand against my belly as he plunges deep inside.  I cry out and he kisses in between my shoulder-blades. 

“Tell me again,” he says, with his lips still against my back.

“Fuck me harder,” I feel like I am screaming now as he rides me from behind, his hand cupping me from beneath, driving me to distraction.  “Pax!  Oh my God.”

I’m moaning now, but he’s pulling me with him toward an orgasm that is going to be mind-blowing. I can feel it building and building and his muscles flexing against me as he moves.

“Come in me,” I tell him.  “I want to feel you come.”

He moves faster and just as I am moaning from my orgasm, he shudders from his. He grabs my ass and holds there, shaking as he finishes.

And then I drop to the ground and he gently falls on top of me, while still supporting his weight.  He kisses the side of my neck, breathing hard. 

“That was fucking hot. 
You’re
fucking hot.”

I smile.  “Thank you.  You’re not too bad yourself.”

He chuckles, and as he does, I look around and notice the smoke.

“What the hell?” I wiggle from under Pax and sit up.  “Holy hell!”

Smoke is billowing toward the ceiling.  I leap to my feet, naked, running for the stove.  At this very moment, the smoke alarms go off. 

Pax runs to disarm them and I slam a lid over the smoking pan of burned zucchini, turning the flame off. 

He rushes back and we stare at it. And then he laughs.

“Well, we did say it was fucking hot.  Apparently, we lit my kitchen on fire.”

I giggle.  “That might have been our poor cooking skills.”

The entire house smells like it burned down now, so I walk around spraying air freshener while Pax scrapes out the burned mess into the disposal, running cold water over the pan.