Warning: Explicit content.

At six o’clock on a crisp Sunday evening, I stood at the door of a modest, ground-floor flat, the aroma of roast duck wafting into my nostrils. It took me four years back in time, when all professor Samuel Fischer was capable of cooking were eggs and potatoes. As I reached for the doorbell, I caught myself smiling, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“Hey.” Sam opened the door with a warm smile, the sleeves of his untucked plaid shirt rolled till the elbows and a kitchen towel slung across his shoulder. The aroma of the food cloaked the house and my senses, robbing my nostrils of every other smell. “I hope it wasn’t much trouble locating the apartment.”

“Not with the fragrant food showing me the way.” My eyes scanned the old-wordly apartment as I stepped in, a sense of comforting allure enveloping me. It was just the kind of well-lived-in space that I had imagined— books everywhere, a chess board open on the coffee table, an exercise book on the sofa, a half-built pirate ship on the carpet. I sensed the weight of his gaze on me as he shut the door. Sunday was the busiest day for my flower shop. After closing at four, I had taken a shower, dried and braided my hair, thrown on a sweater dress, and mercifully found a passing taxi the moment I set foot out of home. If the tiredness of the week showed on my face, Sam made no mention of it as he took my peacoat and hung it on the hook.

“I made this to go with the meal,” I said, handing him a small, glass container. “Carrot pudding.”

His eyebrows arched. “Carrot pudding?”

I nodded. “Kurt still loves carrots, doesn’t he?”

He squinted at me. “How do you even remember details like that?”

“Hi, Missy!” In a long-sleeve tee shirt and a pair of denims, Kurt came bounding out of the kitchen before abruptly drawing to a halt. “Oh, sorry. Can I call you Missy? Dad does.”

“Everyone does,” I gave him a small smile, my eyes flitting between him and his father. He was an image of Sam all right, with his bright blue eyes, the cleft in his chin, and dark hair that fell across his forehead if not pushed back.

“She got you carrot pudding,” Sam announced, walking back to the kitchen. It elicited a small gasp from the boy.

“I love carrot pudding!” His eyes sparkled behind the round spectacles. “I love everything with carrots.”

“So do rabbits,” came his father’s small but audible remark. “Get her settled in, will you, buddy? I have to finish cooking.”

Kurt nodded, even though Sam was not looking. “Thank you for coming,” he smiled up at me. “Can I give you a hug?”

He came closer and wrapped his arms around my midsection as I leaned in and held him. My heart suddenly broke at the contact. I had been ready to give up the world for the child I was ultimately denied. Norma-Jean had not hesitated to concoct a story about her son dying from a terminal disease, simply out of spite for her husband. No matter how long or hard I pondered over it, I failed to grasp how a mother could stoop so low. I wondered if she was even human, or if the maker had forgotten to give her a heart.

“Would you like to see our terrace?” Kurt asked, freeing me from his embrace. “It’s not raining today and there’s still light outside.”

I craned my neck to glance into the kitchen. Pots and pans strewn around, at least half a dozen bottles of seasoning open on the countertop, and a pair of deft, sinewy hands expertly working a knife. The sight made my body surge in sudden physical response, taking me aback. I looked down at Kurt again.

“Are you sure your dad doesn’t need help?”

“I’ve got it, Melissa,” Sam called out, his voice punctuated with the hiss of the oven and the sound of the knife on the cutting board. “He won’t leave you alone until you see the terrace.”

Dropping my bag onto the sofa, I followed Kurt out the sliding door at the far end of the house. The small, grassy lawn would be no larger than fifteen square metres, compact and private with the tall boundary wall blocking the neighbouring houses from view. A telescope sat unobtrusively behind the door, a children’s croquet set next to it.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Sam turned up behind me, his low voice licking my skin and making me shiver inwardly. Kurt was pottering around the terrace and chattering on about how much he loved playing there after coming home from school every day.

“What am I thinking?” I asked without looking at him.

“Just what an anthophile would think looking at a bare lawn like this one.” His hands rested on my shoulders, the warmth of his palms taking my breath away. “I’m so happy you could make it. I know Sundays are hectic for you.”

“But I’m off on Mondays.” I looked at him to find his face flushed from the heat of the oven and the towel now tucked in the waistband of his trousers. I had seen a lot more of the prim and proper Dr Fischer than I had of the regular, day-to-day Sam. His unkempt attractiveness as a relaxed and laid-back homemaker made my blood simmer.

“Will you stay the night?” he whispered, almost as if reading my thoughts. “Please?”

I quickly glanced at his son. “But Kurt…”

“He won’t mind. He likes you already.” Sam kneaded my shoulders, like a cat begging for another treat. “I’ll get you a toothbrush. And one of my shirts to sleep in.”

“Oh.” I bit my cheek. “You plan to let me sleep?”

The kitchen timer sounded, drawing our attention back inside. “Is the food done?” Kurt asked excitedly, hopping over the threshold to re-enter the house.

“The roast is hopefully done.” Sam walked away, untucking the towel from his trousers. Kurt gave me a brief, confused look.

“Hopefully?” He wondered aloud, staring at his back.

“Would you like to have flowers here?” I asked him. Sam’s answering laugh echoed through the house. I ignored the effect the sound had on me and focused on Kurt as he observed the grassless edge of the terrace with loose soil.

“Yes,” he replied. “Flowers are so pretty.”

I slid shut the door of the terrace and returned to the living room. From my bag, I fished out a small seed packet and handed it to the boy. In the kitchen, Sam was still laughing under his breath while sautéeing the vegetables.

“Daisies!” Kurt exclaimed with a broad smile. “Dad, can we have daisies on the terrace?”

“I don’t think I have much of a say here,” Sam answered with another chuckle.

“Good.” I tousled Kurt’s hair before walking up to the small, round dinner table with a stack of plates and a bunch of cutlery. “I’ll set the table.”

“I’ll help you.” Kurt carefully sorted through the cutlery, placing a spoon, a fork, and a knife beside each of the plates as I laid them out. My eyes kept drifting to Sam in the kitchen, his demeanour noticeably happier since that first day he stumbled into my shop.

Nearly a month had passed since our steamy reunion at my apartment. Two more passionate encounters had followed, always at my exaggerated floral abode. I looked forward to our late-night phone conversations at the end of each day, as well as our romantic trysts at a suitable halfway rendezvous convenient for both of us.

Four long years of estrangement had melted away like winter’s ice, replaced by the warmth of our rekindled flame as we rebuilt what was left unfinished in the past. We still read each other like a book, talked about everything under the sun with an uncanny ease, and even the mundane seemed bright when we were together.

The other week, we had unanimously decided that it was time to bring Kurt in the picture, since we were serious about our renewed relationship. My experience with children was limited to Graham and Kelly but being with the twins had given me a solid training in interacting with children, the right things to ask and the proper responses to dissolve any awkwardness.

“Your dad said that you helped out at a toy store over your summer holidays,” I mentioned lightly. “Did you like it there?”

“I did,” he beamed, pushing up his spectacles. “They said I was free to come back and keep working there any time I wanted.”

“What did you do?”

“I answered the phone, bagged toys, and stacked the shelves. I also discovered new slinky tricks, built a sculpture, and learned how to win at patience every time without cheating.” He looked up at me. “Do you play chess?”

“Uh… no.” I half-laughed, thinking about Sam’s futile attempts at teaching me the basics of the game. “Do you?”

“Yes. Dad and I play every day.”

“Big ducky coming up!”

We hastened to move aside as Sam arrived at the table with a large tray loaded with the inviting roast and set it on the coasters that I arranged. Kurt followed him back into the kitchen to offer help. His father handed him a bowl of fried rice, asking him to be careful. He carried the food to the table slowly and cautiously, setting it down on the coaster I laid out. Sam brought the sautéed vegetables and a pitcher of water to the table, filling three glasses.

“Can we plant those seeds after we eat?” Kurt asked me as we sat down to the delicious dinner of roast, spicy wild rice, and pan-fried vegetables. “We have a big light out there.”

“You don’t plant wildflower seeds,” I explained, mock-glaring at Sam when a humongous leg quarter appeared on my plate. “You strew them.”

Kurt looked up from his slice of duck breast and blinked at me. “Strew them?”

“Yes. It’s in the name. They’re wildflowers, so we must scatter them and allow them to grow wild.”

“Oh.” His eyes gleamed with understanding. “That’s easy.”

“It is,” I smiled. “Just make sure you don’t scatter them outside the border, alright?”

“Yes,” said Sam. “I wouldn’t want flowers growing out of the drainage spout.”

Kurt’s giggle filled the dining room while we ate. He was a small eater, which would probably explain his lankiness. I unwillingly recalled the frequent bouts of appetite-crushing intestinal infection he used to suffer from when he was younger and how worried they left his father as he grappled with his dysfunctional marriage, his tyrannical wife, and his covert relationship with me.

Shaking off the memory, I focused on the moment, praising the succulent food to erase any uncertainty Sam might have had about its palatability. Kurt spoke of his love for reading, his excitement over the euphonium, his favourite books The Wonderful O and The Phantom Tollbooth, and the time he met the Dodecahedron. Sam and I talked about his university and my shop, while Kurt meticulously picked out each piece of cherry tomato from the vegetables and piled them on his father’s plate. Sam narrowed his eyes at the crimson heap but said nothing, only gave me a resigned shake of his head.

With the main course over, Sam and I took the dishes back to the kitchen and returned to the table with the carrot pudding. Kurt loved carrots as much as he hated tomatoes. He ate the raisin- and pistachio-laden dessert with relish, his bites interspersed with profuse thanks for my addition to the meal, since the only time they ever had dessert was when his grandmother visited.

After the meal, I helped Sam put away the leftovers and cleaned the countertop, ignoring his protests. Kurt had been planning to return to his pirate ship when Sam asked him to pack his books and put together his uniform for tomorrow. His chores taken care of, Kurt brushed his teeth, changed into his pyjamas, and urged me to build his pirate ship with him. We settled on the carpet, putting together the intricate wooden pieces over his tales of school and myriad other activities, and curious queries about flowers and my shop. When Sam joined us, the conversation shifted, eventually drifting into how constellations came to be named.

In his professional circles, Sam’s eloquence and erudition were known to captivate students, colleagues, and peers alike. He never taught the courses I took, but I had attended a few of his seminars back at Birmingham Business School to experience his effortless charisma. If one minute he’d have the audience in splits with his funny workplace anecdotes, then the next minute he’d stimulate our grey cells with challenging questions that we fumbled to find an answer to.

But this was different. I felt a strange stirring deep within me as I absorbed his vivid storytelling, taking us all the way from ancient Babylonian and Sumerian civilisations to Greek mythological figures. Not a professor nurturing future entrepreneurs but an endearing father shaping his little boy’s mind by evoking awe, curiosity, and the hunger for knowledge. My heart leapt every time his eyes met mine, speaking volumes without a word.

My phone buzzed with a message from Rachel, letting me know that she and the twins loved the pie I had baked them earlier in the day. When I wrote that I was spending the night at Sam’s house, she teasingly wished for me to have a good time. Kurt was dozing off in his father’s arms when I looked up after putting my phone away. Sam scooped him up and gave me a nod as he carried him into his bedroom.

I rose from the chair and walked around the room, freeing my hair from the braid. The tall sash windows with dark green drapes lent a classic, refined feel to the apartment, with the traditional floor lamps heightening the elegance. The muted, understated decor of the place seemed a welcome change from my overly feminine apartment.

I looked behind me when I heard footsteps.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, quietly shutting the door to Kurt’s room. “A drink, maybe?”

“I’m alright,” I answered, sliding my hands inside the slant pockets of my sweater. Sam made his way to the kitchen.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want one if I made an Old Fashioned for myself?”

Almost on an impulse, I followed him to the kitchen. “I might have a sip or two of yours, if you’re willing to share.”

He reached into an overhead cabinet and produced the supplies needed for the cocktail. When he turned around and found me at the sink, he shook his head.

“Uh-uh.” Gently drawing me away from the dishes, he wrapped me in his arms. “You’re not doing that.”

“I do my own dishes, you know.”

“And I do mine. Kurt helps dry them sometimes.” His hand came up to stroke my hair. “You’ve looked tired all evening. How about I make that drink and we go back into the living room?”

I melted in his embrace. “It’s different to see you like this,” I murmured. “So paternal and domestic. Quite the cook as well. I still remember your cheese and mushroom omelettes.”

“Don’t be fooled, I followed a recipe I found in the Times to the last word. It’s right there, pasted on the fridge.”

“Following a recipe also takes skill.” I looked up at his face. “I’m glad you’re still here, doing alright.”

“And I’m glad that you’re here in my arms, where you’ve always belonged.”

Laying a kiss on my cheek, he returned to the counter to prepare the drink. Afterwards, he put the supplies back in the cabinet and motioned for me to follow him back to the living room. Reoccupying his place on the sofa, he tapped the space next to him. I gingerly walked over and sat beside him, nestling into his body when he slid an arm around me.

“It’s so quiet here after he goes to bed,” I said. He scoffed lightly, bringing the glass to his lips.

“I’d have killed for this quietness while I was married.” He swirled his mouthful around and swallowed. “Remember I told you that it’s more peaceful with just the two of us? It’s true. Now no one’s waiting for an opportunity to start a fight or throw a tantrum.”

“Did he cope well with the divorce?” I asked hesitantly, my head rolling onto his shoulder. His chest inflated, then deflated noisily.

“For the most part. He was only six at the time, and the conflict did take a toll on him, despite my best attempts to shield him.”

Sam took another swig of the drink, the ice clinking inside the glass. “Living with my parents managed to keep him away from the legal nonsense but he developed separation anxiety, because I’d be gone for long hours and my mental state didn’t really allow me to fully focus on him. For days following the divorce, when it was just me and him in our new flat, he’d wake up in the middle of the night and come into my room, frightened by the nightmare that his mother was taking him away from me and he’d never see me again. He kept having that same dream night after night, even when he was sleeping in my bed, right next to me. I…”

His voice broke. When I looked up at his face, he tried to hide the emotions behind a raspy chuckle. “I found myself bawling in the shower one night,” he admitted. “I felt like a terrible parent. I still live in fear that Kurt might one day choose his mother over me, that I’m never going to be enough for him.”

“You’re a good father,” I soothed. “A son needs the masculine energy of his dad. You have each other to fall back on during good times and bad. I’m sure he knows that you’re everything that his mother could never be.”

“I hope so.” His jaw clenched. “She’s such a volatile person. There was this time, she was serving dinner and Kurt was engrossed in his book instead of being at the table. She took the book away and tore it up, warning him that she’d tear more than his book if he didn’t listen to her.”

My heart quaked at those words. “You told me she once smashed your laptop,” I said. Sam washed down the memory with another swig of the drink.

“I knew he was afraid of her,” he added. “But I should’ve been quicker to see the damage she was doing to him.”

A melancholic twinge constricted my chest. “You said she has visitation?”

“Once every three months.” He forwarded the glass to me. “It’s like reopening old wounds every time.”

I took a sip of the drink, trying to process the ordeal they had been through. “He’s a smart, sweet boy. How could she bring herself to throttle the happiness of her only child?”

“I wish I knew, Missy…” He dropped his head back and sighed. “I wish I knew.”

“Her mother once locked my mother in the attic for two days,” I said quietly, recalling a distant memory. Sam’s gaze darted at my face.

“Her mother? But she died a long time ago.”

“Yes, but when they were children, she became an orphan and came to live with my mother’s family. They were first cousins.” I took a large gulp of the drink before handing the glass back to him. “She also poisoned and killed my mother’s dog, and made it look like an accident.”

His eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

I nodded. “Mum only spoke about her a few times, but I still remember.”

“My god.” His face fell. “So Jean took after her mother.”

“Pretty much, now that I think of it.”

“And your mother still believed her and turned against you?”

“My mother is naïve and gullible. She didn’t know Jean well enough to understand how she was.” My throat tightened as I formed the next words. “She probably thought of the other woman my father abandoned her for, and all her pent-up anger resurfaced.”

“If you know the psychology behind what she did,” Sam posed cautiously. “Why won’t you forgive her?”

“Because regardless of the psychology, what she did was downright cruel and uncalled for. I felt sad whenever I thought of you, but whenever I thought of her, I felt rage.”

Leaving the sofa, I went near the window. It was a rare night in Aldlake, clear, starlit, and devoid of the constant noise of rain. I heard Sam put down the glass on the coffee table and approach me.

“If you’re trying to change my mind about my mother,” I warned. “Then you should stop, because it won’t work.”

“I’m not trying to do that.” He wrapped his arms around my shoulders to calm me. “But I hold myself responsible for what she did to you.”

“It wasn’t your fault that Jean poisoned her mind. Besides, I was pregnant. I wouldn’t have been able to hide it for too long, and she’d have hated me all the same.”

“And I’d still be responsible for it.”

“No. Even if she found out, I’d never tell her about you.” I sighed. “Leaving Birmingham was the best thing I ever did. I started from scratch here and I’m proud of it.”

“I understand.” He tucked my head under his chin. “You have a well-settled life here now. It’s natural you don’t want any connection with Birmingham anymore.”

I tangled my arms with his. “Does Kurt know what his mother did?”

“Yes. I don’t know if he understands the magnitude of her actions, but he does realise that both of us were unhappy with her, and living apart is the best arrangement for us.”

“Will he ever know that I’m the reason why it all started in the first place?”

“Missy, I wanted a clean divorce like a civilized person, like several other civilized couples around the world. I was even willing to share Kurt’s custody with her. But she decided to make it ugly. How is any of that your fault?”

“But knowing how she is, the moment Kurt tells her about me, she will poison his mind.”

“She won’t get to see him ever again if she does that. I’m no longer a wimp and she’s no longer deserving of my courtesy. I think she knows that.”

Turning me around, he tilted my face with two fingers. “He really took to you,” Sam murmured. “I don’t think he’s ever taken to someone new so quickly.”

“I wonder what you told him about me.”

“The truth. That the sweet lady from the cute flower shop is an old friend of mine and that I like her a lot.” He smiled. “I wasn’t sure how he’d react, but it’s like you’ve always been a part of our lives.”

“It was the carrot pudding,” I quipped.

“I cannot believe you remember,” he said. “I don’t remember when I even told you that.”

“At a university luncheon one day. There was carrot cake for dessert.”

His eyes turned wistful. “I did talk a lot about him, didn’t I?”

“And I asked a lot about him.” My hands slid up his pectoral muscles. “I always thought fatherhood made a man sexy.”

Sam chuckled. “Sexy, huh?” His head dipped, his lips hovering across mine in a tenuous dance of indecision and longing. I arched into him, letting our lips finally meet after hours of simmering anticipation. He inhaled sharply as he pressed me against his body, the embrace sending heat coursing through me. The contact deepened instinctively, his tongue courting mine, his hands down the slope of my back opening a portal of unspent desire. The air around us grew heavy and intimate, like a testament to our raw and unyielding connection. When his lips kissed travelled down my jaw to my neck, I tugged him impossibly closer to demand more from the irresistible caress.

“Would you be alright if I went for a very quick shower?” He asked sheepishly, although his eyes were dark and smouldering, holding the promise of further exploration. “I don’t like how I smell of duck.”

“It was always my dream to snog a roast duck,” I teased, earning another chuckle from him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Do you need anything?”

“I would like to brush my teeth.”

“Sure. Come along.”

He led me to the bathroom and fetched me a new toothbrush from the cupboard. As I brushed my teeth, he returned to the living room to finish the drink. I heard him putting books and toys in their proper places, before going back into the kitchen to clean up. Once I emerged from the bathroom, he pushed open the door to his bedroom and switched on a light.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

It was a small room, painted like the rest of the house— mostly warm beige complemented by a carriage green accent wall behind the bed. There were shelves stacked with books, a writing desk by the window with more books, a wardrobe with a full-length mirror, and bedside tables with vintage lamps. As the shower started up in the bathroom, I picked up an old shirt from the chair in the corner and held it to my nose. It smelled of sweat and fading deodorant, the familiar blend making my heart ache. I slipped out of my clothes and put on the shirt, then sank into the chair with a book called Business Communication and the Key to Positive Relationships, wondering if I remembered anything from my days at the university.

I must have fallen asleep in the chair, because I was stirred into awareness by Sam carrying me to bed.

“I’m sorry…” I murmured as he pulled up the duvet. He smiled down at me, his hair wet, his naked chest barely hidden behind the towel around his neck. “I was reading and…”

“It’s alright. Just sleep.” He ran an affectionate hand across my hair, then kissed my forehead. A little later, I felt him crawl into bed next to me, turning on the reading light on his side.

“What happened to the kitten he found on the trip?” I asked.

“Our lease doesn’t allow pets,” he said, turning the pages of his book. “I told him he can get pets if we ever have our own place.”

“You’ll be fine with it?”

“I’ve been fine with worse. And maybe a pet will do him good. Teach him compassion and responsibility.” He leaned into me. “I had the best time of my life tonight, I hope you know.”

“So did I.”

He kissed my cheek. “I love you, Missy.”

“I love you too, Sam-I-Am.” A smile bloomed on my lips, the gentle strokes of his fingertips across my scalp lulling me to sleep again.

#

“Missy?”

I heard Sam call out from the living room as he approached the kitchen. It was barely six in the morning, the east-facing window letting in the first rays of the sun. I sensed him at the doorway, though my back was to him.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his sleep-hoarse voice sending prickles down my skin. I had woken up a while ago to his arms around me, painfully extricated myself from his tender, loving embrace, and put my own clothes back on. I knew he had work and Kurt had school, so I had got a head start in the kitchen.

“Making breakfast,” I said nonchalantly. “I hope you don’t mind that I rummaged through your fridge and your pantry. What do you usually eat for breakfast?”

“Toast and eggs mostly. Kurt loves his cereal.” He entered the kitchen, his eyes going to the sink. “Did you do the dishes?”

“Yes,” I answered, stirring the contents of the frying pan on the stove. “I’m making a breakfast bowl with potatoes and the leftover duck from last night. I assume Kurt gets lunch at school. Fish and chips and baked beans, is it?”

Sam tugged me around, my heart sinking to see the frown on his forehead. “Don’t do this,” he whispered.

“Do what?”

“Make me dream.” He held my upper arms. “We’ve been through a lot, Melissa. Despite how kind you’ve been to me, I cannot simply shrug off the weight of what I did to you in the past. I don’t want to rush this, become greedy, and then lose you again.”

I put my hands on top of his. “What if I am greedy?”

He stared at me, his feet involuntarily moving as I walked him backwards until his spine was grazing the fridge. His unbuttoned shirt gave me access to his bare torso, my hands sliding down the dark smattering of hair on his stomach and settling on the waistband of his shorts. Our faces instinctively inched closer, igniting a tentative spark that transcended our surroundings and grew into an unquenched longing. My stomach clenched as we joined in a ravenous kiss, his fingers roughly grabbing my waist, my hands slipping between us to feel the growing bulge in his underwear.

“Missy…” He breathed into the kiss when I started pushing down his shorts, taking his boxers along. The clothes slid past his hips, his straining erection meeting my hands. “Wait… what—”

I dropped to my knees, the fat crown positioned at my mouth. The heat of his arousal fuelled my own desire, dampening my knickers. We had lost out on a perfectly good night, owing to my tiredness, and I felt compelled to compensate for it. He bit back a gasp when I gently pumped him while swirling my tongue around the thick bellend. I felt his legs tense as I ran my fingers across his inner thighs, briefly touching his scrotum to feel his heavy testicles. Then I sucked him into my mouth, earning a ragged exhale from him.

“No…” He held my head and gently withdrew from my mouth. “Stop.”

I looked up at his face. “Why?”

At that very moment, an alarm clock sounded in Kurt’s bedroom. Sam dropped his head back. “That’s why,” he said, gulping hard.

Holding my shoulders, he helped me to my feet and sealed me in another possessive kiss. Then he pulled up his underwear and his sleep shorts and walked out of the kitchen. With a heavy sigh, I returned to the stove, finishing up the bowl to focus on the overripe melon on the countertop. I heard him sending Kurt for a shower, answering in the affirmative when the little boy asked if I was still here. As I turned off the stove, I heard footsteps approaching the kitchen, and before I could turn around to look, Sam yanked me into his arms and reclaimed my lips. I crumbled against him, surrendering to the passion with equal fervour.

“How long do we have?” I asked when he started pushing down my tights. Sam lifted me on the countertop, settling me on the edge of the cool marble.

“Fifteen minutes.” The shower started up as he got rid of his shorts and underwear. “Twenty if we’re lucky.”

We chuckled into the kiss, my legs wrapping around his hips. “Do you have condoms?” he asked, tugging my sweater down to kiss his way up my bare shoulder. His hot breaths made my eyes roll back.

“It’s alright,” I said, guiding his erection to my soaked entrance. “I’m due in two days.”

“Oh… Missy…” He sought my lips again, his fingers creeping underneath my sweater and inside my bra to cup my breasts. “Need you…”

“Need you too…” I struggled to breathe as he pushed into me, filling me slowly. We gasped together, the room spinning around us, colours swirling and shifting in time with the rhythm of our bodies. He gripped my buttocks with lustful ferity, marking me in the most primitive way. Our heavy breaths echoed through the kitchen, his powerful thrusts pushing me closer to the brink of sanity.

–

–

–

We heard the shower turn off over our wildly pounding hearts. Our lips met in a breathless, shuddering kiss, our bodies humming in the aftermath of our stolen encounter.

“Dad…” Kurt called out quietly from the bathroom. “There’s a spider here.”

Sam’s lips curled into a smirk, his length still twitching inside me. “What’s his name?” He answered, holding my gaze. I laughed noiselessly, still clinging to his shoulders. Kurt seemed to dither for a minute.

“Uh… Greg?”

“Absolute worst name for a spider,” Sam whispered to me. Slowly, gently, he withdrew from my overflowing canal and pulled his bottoms back on. He cleaned me with a tissue, before picking up my panties from the floor and sliding them on me. We kissed again, our fingers tangling in each other’s hair.

“We’ll get dressed and be back for breakfast,” he said with a smile, his forehead resting against mine. “I’ll drop you home on my way to the university, if you want. Is that alright?”

I nodded, reaching for another kiss. “Thank you,” he murmured, his eyes suddenly welling up. “I never thought I’d be so happy again someday.”

My head nestled in the crook of his head as I held him tight, my heart replying in kind.