“Oh, god,” I murmured. “I’m—I’m right there…please don’t stop. I’m coming…oh Jesus…” I had to stop driving then.
When I told her I was coming, she slid her lips around me and took me deeper than ever, so deep I felt her throat muscles clench around me and I wasn’t sure why she wasn’t gagging, and I then I felt myself release in a rush of heat and throbbing wonder. She took it all, and her throat muscles moved in a swallowing motion, drawing me to even harder spastic shudders. I came so hard it felt like a nuclear explosion inside me, and she milked it all from me, sucking and moving on me until all the juddering, wracking shivers had stopped.
She straightened and wiped her mouth with her palm, smiling shyly at me. I leaned over and kissed her so hard we both pulled away a couple minutes later panting and breathless.
“Does that mean you liked it?”
I wasn’t even sure how to respond. “Liked it? God, Becca, that was…amazing. Beyond amazing. I can’t believe you did that.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing, so I was just hoping it was okay for you.”
I laughed at the idea that she could doubt herself. “Baby, it was the best thing ever. Seriously. Thank you.”
“The best thing ever?” She frowned at me, a cute pout on her lips. “Better than making love to me?”
“No, god no. Just…different.” I brushed her cheekbone with my thumb. “Anything you do is the best. Anything with you. Did you mind doing that? Did it, like, make you gag?”
She ducked her head, embarrassed. “A little. Not enough to really bother me. I liked how much you seemed to enjoy it.” She buckled up, and I started driving again. “Maybe I’ll do that the next time I’m on my period and we can’t have sex.”
“That would be awesome, but it’s up to you.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “I’d just feel weird asking you to do that.”
She tilted her head and smiled at me. “Why? If I don’t mind doing it and like making you feel good, why should you feel bad asking me to do something for you? If I don’t want to, I’ll just say no, that’s all. I have no compunction about asking you to go down on me, believe me. If you want me to go down on you, just ask. I liked doing that to you. For real.”
I stared at her. “How can you be this awesome? Seriously. I’m pretty sure there’s never been any guy as lucky as me.”
“I’m the lucky one,” she said, her voice quiet.
I shook my head, knowing better than to argue with her.
For some reason, that Beyonce song about “if you liked it, you should’ve put a ring on it” floated through my head. I knew we weren’t ready for that yet, but the seed was planted. I knew I was the most fortunate man in the human species. There wasn’t another woman like Rebecca de Rosa anywhere in the world, and I sure as hell didn’t want to take a chance on her getting away from me. It wasn’t just how eager and willing she was sexually, though. It was that she loved me, supported me, encouraged me. She got down on me when I wanted to slack off, refused to let me give up. My motivation in life was to be a good enough man for her, worthy of her awesomeness.
* * *
Becca
Jason was moved into my brother’s apartment, which was weird but convenient. My parents had clearly known exactly why Jason hadn’t wanted to stay in their basement, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. I planned to be careful about it, though, because they were still providing me with a budget for living expenses and were paying for my car. I could do without those things if I had to, but they were great to have. I didn’t want to damage my still-fragile relationship with my parents, so I knew I had to tread a fine line when it came to flaunting my relationship with Jason in front of them. Things had gotten better with them as of late, in part because Ben seemed to be doing a lot better. Kate really was good for him, it seemed. They liked Jason as much as they’d ever like anyone. I don’t think they were capable of just being happy for me, but at least they didn’t openly disapprove or try to force us apart. They still thought I should focus on my studies rather than “fooling around with a boy,” as my father had once put it, earning a snicker from me and a hard glare from him. I knew they wanted the best for me, but what they didn’t seem to understand was that what they wanted for me wasn’t the same as what I wanted for me.
Jason was at the local Powerhouse Gym, which was the first place he’d gone after dropping off his bag of clothes. He’d almost immediately scored a job as a trainer, so he could spend most of the summer at the gym working out and earning money. Since the gym was only a couple miles from Ben’s apartment, Jason decided to walk, run, or bike there, which meant I had his truck. I knew it was big deal for him to let me drive his truck. It wasn’t much, that old truck, but it was the only thing he owned, really, aside from his camera.
I pulled into the Hawthornes’ driveway and sat for a moment, hoping Nell would be receptive to me this time around. Over the holidays, she’d been silent and withdrawn, and had gotten defensive when I’d tried to bring up Kyle’s death or the way she was coping with it. I don’t think she even really registered my words, just my tone of voice, which had triggered an automatic reaction calculated to push me away. It had worked, and that had been the last time I’d seen her. I had taken six classes in the spring semester, and I’d barely had time to see Jason, much less drive home to see Nell.
I felt guilty for not making more of an effort, but I knew, too, that nothing I did would make much difference.
I knocked on the thick brown French doors, which were promptly opened by Mrs. Hawthorne. She had on a black-and-white paisley apron spattered with flour, and the kitchen smelled like oatmeal raisin cookies.
“Hi, Becca! You’re back for the summer?” She greeted me with a one-armed hug, holding the other away from our bodies as if she still had dough on it.
I hugged her back and took a whiff of the air. “Yeah, Jason and I just got in. It smells awesome in here.”
Mrs. Hawthorne smiled warmly at me. “Thanks, I’m just making some cookies. I’ve got a batch cooling on the counter. Want one?”
“Do you even have to ask?” I grabbed a huge, soft, perfect cookie from the newspaper on the marble counter and bit into it. “Oh, my god, Mrs. Hawthorne, you make the best cookies.”