“Jules, listen, I didn’t mean to be so forceful.” Regret washed over me as a lump formed in my throat.
“It’s not that.” She stared out the windshield at my house looming ahead of us—either an island of pleasure or a monument of regret. “I get that was our thing. You were the coach, and I was the pupil. It was hot and sexy back then. Now too, if I’m honest. But I have Darla, and I know keeping her from you was my choice. I had my reasons but my brain is so clouded right now, I can’t even remember them.”
She twisted her hands together, wringing out all the tension and hopefully keeping all the hope. “What I’m trying to say is this ... I have a life, one that I made. It may not be as glamorous as yours, but you can’t throw money and demands at me like I’m some two-bit hooker.”
At her words, I was heartbroken. “No, no, no. You’re not some ... I can’t even say the word.”
“Hooker.”
“That’s not how I meant to make you feel, Jules. It’s just you’re smoking hot, and in a way I can’t even understand, you’re even more attractive now that you’re the mother of my child. And I’m only a dude at the end of the day. I know it’s a lousy excuse, but I wanted to be with you so badly.”
Her hand tangled with mine.
She was comforting me.
I was such an ass.
“Do you want me to take you home?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. But I don’t want you to leave me tips, okay?”
“All right, but I need to make up for all the years I missed and you scrounged. Will you let me?”
Her hand rose to my cheek and she slid it down to my jaw. Staring into my eyes with the moonlight streaming through the windshield, she asked, “Can’t you just set up a college fund?”
“Of course,” I muttered. Unable to stop myself, I pressed my lips to hers. I kissed her softly, like a woman of substance, not a two-bit hooker.
I broke free and pressed my mouth to her forehead. “But she’ll probably get a tennis scholarship.”
“Oh God.”
“She’s good, Jules.”
“Yeah, I know.”
My mouth ghosted over hers again. “I loved you back then. Never stopped. If you need me to slow down, I will.”
“No.” Her lips slid along mine. “Let’s go inside.”
I led her through the house and to the back deck. “Sit. Please sit.” I pointed toward the lounger.
She lay back and kicked off her shoes. I sat at her feet, running my hand down the length of her right foot and up the left, and she closed her eyes. I pressed my thumb into her arch and she moaned. I dug deeper, adding pressure.
“Feel good?”
A louder moan. “I may orgasm like this,” she said, her eyes closed and her lips parted.
I kept working at her feet, caressing and adding pressure in intervals. Finally, coming to a stop, I said, “You work hard. I want to take care of you.”
Shifting up her side, I lifted myself on top of her. Then, bracing my weight on a forearm, I made love to her mouth.
Her hips rose to meet mine and my pelvis ground into her, both of us seeking friction. My tongue traced a path down her neck, to her clavicle and back. A faint trace of her perfume still lingered, even above the smells of the night, and I inhaled harder.
Her hand batted my nose away, her middle still keeping close contact with mine. “I probably smell bad.”
“You smell fantastic. Downright edible.” The words fell out of my mouth as I bit her neck.
“Maybe I should shower?”
