“Everyone go unpack and put on your bathing suits,” Gloria commands in her Teacher Voice. She points at Dominic. “Bring Lina’s luggage up to the house.”
The true magic in this story is that seeing a Gang DILF be humbled by a woman half his size and double his age has somehow made him even sexier.
SIX
Dominic
The four ofus slink out of the kitchen as if my shame is equally distributed amongst all of us, bumbling back out to the cars like a bunch of students who just got their asses handed to them by their teacher. Which, I guess, is kind of what happened. I grab Lina’s suitcase out of their car, and wordlessly, we walk further down the driveway and up the external staircase into our marital home, the guest house. The steps groan in that way that old, solid wood groans, as if the house can’t believe this shit, either.
We pause in the foyer, mildly horrified yet pleasantly surprised at what greets us. The apartment is longer than it is wide, all crafted of the same warm, golden wood from the main house. The front door opens into a huge open space that holds the kitchen, dining room, and living room, the wall facing the ocean almost entirely made of windows. Further down, a hallway extends to the end of the house, and I can see that all the rooms are all on the ocean side. I’d bet all those walls are windows, too. I look past the ocean windows to see a narrow patio that seems to extend the entire length of the house.
If I were to guess, the whole thing is just a bit bigger than Frankie and my apartment in Brooklyn.
It is the perfect sized house for a little family of three.
I look down at Lina and jump, because she’s looking at me very seriously.
“Is this okay?” she asks with quiet concern.
I rub my eyes, still not quite sure what’s happening or how I ended up here. “I mean, I guess there are way worse things than relaxing in a gorgeous multi-million dollar beachfront home with a beautiful woman,” is what leaves my mouth, and I immediately feel my face get hot.
But she laughs, and it’s a warm, tinkling sound that settles my nerves and makes her face ridiculously more beautiful. “Thank you,” she says graciously, with that totally unbothered shit-eating grin from yesterday, “but I meant about Frankie sleeping apart from you.”
Fucking obviously, Dom. “Oh,” I say brilliantly. “I… I don’t know,” I answer honestly, because her big brown eyes pull it from me, and I remember that much of this woman’s job is to talk to the neurotic parents of young children. “I guess I’ll have to see. Right now, I kind of feel like crawling out of my skin. She’s never been apart from me,” I say lamely.
“I think it’s probably harder on you than it is for her,” she says patiently, without judgement.
I let out a breath. “You’re probably right. Still doesn’t make me feel good.”
“Well, I can distract you if you’re feeling too stressed about it,” she says, eyes gleaming.
I choke on some saliva.
She laughs again, but it’s little alarmed this time. “I mean, not like that. Or, yes, like that, if you wanted,” and this goes in one ear and straight to my dick. Her eyes grow wide, as if she didn’t mean to say it. “Disregard that last statement. But what I’m really trying to say is I’m trying to relax, too.”
She walks away from me, which is both a very good thing and a very bad thing because maybe she won’t be able to see my half-hard cock from far away, but now I can watch her ass and I get even harder. I adjust just seconds before she drapes herself across the couch.
“The last few months… or the last two years, I guess,” she says, with a slight cringe, “have… required a lot from me. I told myself I’d spend this summer crafting New and Improved Real Life Lina,” she tells me, as if I know what the hell she’s talking about, “and I failed. All I wanted to try to do was to grow tomatoes and take an edible and watch television and learn to knit, but instead I worked and then worked some more and then I went home and took care of my mom.”
I nod, because I am on the same fucking page.
“The worst part is that my mom is probably fine and doesn’t need any help. I just need to do it, for some reason. It’s just who I am. But anyway, long story short, the only thing I’m working my ass off on this week is crafting New and Improved Real Life Lina. I’m going to be fun and spontaneous and also lazy and maybe a mild drug user. And it sounds like you need to do something similar. And that’s what I meant by distracting you. We can do it together,” she says with finality.
I am a bit disappointed by that, before shaking my head and reminding myself that the most effective form of birth control just turned five years old this past June. So, I nod again. “A distraction would be nice, then,” I answer, walking to sit on a bar stool in the kitchen because sitting on the couch will put me too close to her ass. “Tita Gloria was right. I haven’t had a vacation in over five years. Since Frankie. We’ve been at each other’s throats lately. I think we both need a break.”
“You don’t have any help?” she asks me quietly.
I shrug, hackles rising. “I don’t need any help.”
“Everyone needs help.”
“Says the self-proclaimed workaholic who spends her free time taking care of everyone but herself.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Are you any different?”
“No, but at least I know and accept this about myself.”
“I have too,” she points out. “That’s why I’m doing something about it. What are you doing about it?”
