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Every Day Will be Like a Holiday – Chapter 2

Patty and Rick pick up where they left off.
I got home from Black Friday shopping the next afternoon and found a long florist’s box with a big red bow on the dining room table. I was just about to open it until Brandon ambled down the staircase.

“That just came for you,” he said. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

I told him that I didn’t, and then he asked, “So what was that weirdness between you and Kellie’s dad about yesterday?”

I couldn’t tell him that we had met and that he was an embarrassing one-night stand. I just told him that I didn’t know what he was talking about. I’m sure Kellie told him how she chewed Rick out.

All I could tell him was, “It was just awkward meeting Kellie’s dad like that, but we had a nice talk after the two of you left. He thinks you’re a great kid, and I told him what I thought about Kellie.”

He gave me a hug and said, “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot to me. But do you want to hear something weird? When I brought Kellie home last night, her dad gave me a hundred bucks and told me to take her out and do something special with her tonight and not to come home too early.”

My heart sank. That sounded like he had some big plans for the evening. And he had the nerve to come on to me the way he did last night?

“Player,” I thought. “I should have known better.”

I feigned a laugh the best I could and said, “That’s the old ploy to make sure that you don’t come knockin’ when the house is a-rockin’.”

Brandon looked a little surprised to hear me say something off-color like that, especially about his girlfriend’s father. He told me that he was off to get a haircut before he picked up Kellie, and said, “Well, at least you’ll know I’ll be out late tonight.”

After Brandon left I opened the box and found a dozen long-stemmed red roses and a leather riding crop. There was a note tied to the crop that read: “I’m sure you heard the kids have plans for the night. I’d like to make plans of our own. Meet me at La Dolce Vita at 7. Leave the crop in the car in case we have a ‘switch’ in the plans. Yours, R.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to take this. This was a man who used me as a one-night stand, was my son’s girlfriend’s father, and now wanted to patch things up with a dozen roses, a fancy Italian dinner, and a bit of BDSM?

I dialed Rick’s number.

“What if I said, ‘No’?” I said.

He lowered his voice in almost a whisper and said, “I suppose I’d have to beg.”

“Beg,” I said.

“Please allow me the pleasure of spoiling you for the evening tonight,” he said. “Whatever you’d like me to do to make up for my transgressions, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“What if I said, ‘No’?” I said again.

“Then that would call for a switch in plans,” he said. “I know where you live. I know your son is out for the evening. I know you have a dozen red roses with petals I could brush across your alabaster skin … slowly. I know you have a brand-new crop that’s begging to be broken in. Begging the way you did for me that night we first met.”

“So I really don’t have a choice, do I?” I said.

“You have two choices,” he said. “Meet me for dinner and I’ll treat you like a lady or I’ll come out to see you and treat you like a whore.”

“Come here and pick me up for dinner at 6:30,” I said.

La Dolce Vita wasn’t the typical place for the parents of a college-age couple to get to know each other. It was more of the kind of place a man took a woman when he absolutely, positively had to get laid, or in Rick’s case, absolutely, positively had to apologize for being a ginormous jerk. Candles on the tables provided most of the lighting in the dining room. The volume of Italian love songs on the sound system were just loud enough to provide some privacy so you couldn’t hear couples at nearby tables sharing sweet nothings with each other. The cream sauces slipped down your throat like liquid velvet. The veal melted in your mouth like butter on skin in the Mediterranean sun.

But here we were talking about their kids. We both admitted we wanted what they had. They were best friends, supportive of each other, and all they did was laugh at and with each other when they were together.

“So you didn’t see that happening with us when we first met?” I asked.

He paused, took in a deep breath, and said, “I did. Absolutely. You’ll just never believe what happened.”

“I probably won’t, but tell me,” I said.

“The next morning, my phone got hacked,” he said. “I lost all of my phone numbers, messages, email and apps. I had to get a new phone number.”

“Uh huh,” I said, not believing him.

“Ask Kellie,” he said. “She’ll tell you that she heard every curse word in three different languages come out of my mouth for at least three days. What she won’t tell you is that the thing I was swearing about the most was not being able to find your phone number or your ad on the dating site.”

I admitted that I pulled the ad the day after I didn’t hear from him. I was pissed and didn’t want to go through that kind of drama again.

“If only I knew how easy it would have been to get your number,” he said. “The other thing that wasn’t easy was finding your house. I got lost in your subdivision five different times.”

He had me wrapped around his finger, literally, hooking his pinky finger around mine over the top of the table, the tips of our toes touching underneath. It felt like he was kissing me deeply with those eyes, those deep chestnut eyes that pierced me down to my inner core.

“So, where would you like things to go from here?” I asked, challenging him, tempting him, and really wanting to know.

He twirled strands of fettuccine on his fork and fed me a forkful of puttanesca. He stared at me as it slipped into my mouth, and said, “I love watching the ends of those strands of noodles slip between your lips.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” I said.

He brought my glass of Valpolicella to my mouth and said, “I’m sorry, I was distracted about the things I could imagine sliding between your lips.”

He gave me another sip of wine.

“Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?” I asked.

“I don’t want to get you drunk,” he said. “In fact, I want you to leave that last bit of wine in your glass. And I have a feeling I don’t have to take advantage of you.”

“Really?” I asked.

To anyone else, Rick looked like he was cutting into his osso bucco. What he also did under the cloak of a long linen tablecloth was slip his shoe off, stretch his leg under the table, wedge his foot between my legs, and rub his stockinged foot over the front of my silky G-string panties. His foot then slipped over the top of my thigh and under the strap of my garter belt. He lifted it up and let go, letting it snap against my skin.

I closed my eyes for a moment and did my best not to let out a soft moan in front of all the other diners.

“I love stockings,” he said as he pulled his foot away and back into his shoe. “I can’t wait to see them.”

“I can’t wait to hear your answer to my question; where would you like things to go from here?” I said.

“My place,” he said, and then broke out into laughter before composing himself.

“I’d like more dates like tonight and the one we had on the Fourth of July,” he said. “I’d like to have you treat me like a gentleman in public and a manwhore in the bedroom. I’d like for you to still need me and still feed me when I’m sixty-four. Seriously, I’d like to see how things go.”

After he signed off on the check, he picked up my glass, gave me the last sip of wine he told me to leave behind, and asked loud enough only for me to hear: “My place or yours?”

From the moment we walked into his house, we had our clothes off and got tangled around each other all the way to his bedroom.

He threw me on the bed, held my arms down, looked at me seriously before locking his lips onto mine. His breathing was heavy and warm. Captivating. I wrapped one leg around his back but didn’t have time to get the second one around him. He pulled away quickly, tore my panties off, pinned one leg on the bed, and hoisted the other one straight in the air.

He parted my labia open and traced the tip on his tongue slowly up my moist and tender inner folds all the way up to my clit where he flicked it with his tongue. At that point I couldn’t talk. I was totally incapable. The only sounds that came out of my mouth were high-pitched breathy sighs that were a lot louder than sighs should be.

His tongue wiggled its way inside and rolled around my inner walls, tickling them and making me shake and spasm. Watching him, I had never seen a man so focused and immerse in anything quite the way he was in getting me off. For as much as I was enjoying being spoiled, I kept reaching out for his cock. I tried to tell him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t string the right order of words together in my head. I couldn’t get them out of my mouth. What he was doing to me had totally jumbled my brain.

For all the banter we had earlier hinting about who could out-dominate each other, neither one of us was in control. There was no top or bottom in this situation. When he finally had to thrust his dick inside of me, I was on top, on the bottom, and even upright pressed against the wall. I was afraid we were going to break the glass of the sliding doorway when he had our hands braced against it as he rammed me from behind at full throttle. I thought my legs were going to give out just before I could feel him tense and brace himself just before the onslaught of a fierce and fiery spray of hot, creamy cum that filled me and then dripped down my legs.

We fell back on the floor and he held me as we caught our breaths. Even though the air was cool, we were cloaked in the residual sweat and warmth we had generated.

“I’ve waited a hundred and forty-five days to do that again,” he said.

I counted back in my head and deduced that was how long it had been since we were last together.

“You counted?” I asked, giggling.

“Why sure,” he said, stroking my cheek with the side of his finger. “How could I forget an evening like that? Even though I thought I’d never see you again, I never thought I’d meet anyone worthy …”

I threw a stray pillow off the floor, flung it at him, and said, “Bullshit!”

He raised his right hand and said, “Scouts honor. I’d love to do it again, but I expect a certain prince will be bringing my princess home soon.”

We both burst out laughing and joked about having to hide from our kids probably just like they probably went out of their way to keep their sex lives hidden from us.

“I feel like a kid again,” I laughed.

He brushed my hair back, kissed me on the forehead, and said, “So do I.”

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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