My feet root to the ground, and she jerks back with my sudden stop. “Oh no, they didn’t,” I say quietly, while murderous thoughts roll through my brain. “That was no laughing matter. I had to get stitches. Stitches! No five year old boy wants to see a needle coming at his rooster.”
Celia doubles over in laughter, clutching her stomach. “Your rooster? Really?”
“When I was five? Yes, I called it my rooster,” I explain with a huff. I bend at the knee to meet her eye to eye. “Now that I’m a grown ass man? I think anaconda is more appropriate.”
Her cheeks blush a pretty shade of pink, and she lowers her lashes to hide her embarrassment. “Oh, hush,” she says, with a shove of my shoulder.
I take back my hold of her hand, and keep walking in silence. My big, indelicate mitt swallows her dainty fingers, but nothing has ever felt so right.
“Do you know they wanted to stitch me up at home? Can you believe that? My dick gets nearly cut off by a rogue toilet seat, and Mo thinks she can sew it up in the kitchen. That’s what I get for having an ER doctor as a mom,” I say as I shake my head in utter disbelief.
“Well, it’s a good thing that cooler heads prevailed,” Celia says, smashing her lips together to curb her laughter.
“Keep it up, Tink, keep it up. I fail to see the humor in that story. It’s every man’s nightmare. I couldn’t take a piss without holding the toilet seat up with my hand for years, and I only stopped then because I had grown tall enough to make the trajectory of the toilet seat a non-issue.”
That tiny piece of information unlocks the floodgates, and I stand, hands on hips and head lowered, as Celia howls with laughter. I can’t believe Mom and Mo did this to me. I’m trying to woo Celia, and now she’s laughing her ass off at my maimed rooster. Not very woo-worthy … not at all.
“Ya done?” I ask when she finally quiets down.
Her lips form a pretty pout as she lunges and wraps her arms around my waist. She gives me a tight squeeze and looks up at me with those blue doe-like eyes. “I’m sorry, Cain-Cain. Do you forgive me?”
“Now they’ve done it. They’ve crossed the line this time,” I say, shaking my head, plotting the imminent demise of Mom and Mo for revealing my childhood nickname, among other things.
She lets out an infectious giggle and bats her lashes at me. I clear my throat and squeeze right back before I grasp under her arms and pull her high above my head. She peeks down at me, sunshine filtering through her wispy blonde hair, eyes dancing, and glittered feet poking me in the stomach.
She looks magical, angelic, almost dreamlike. Without any forethought, acting on pure instinct and overwhelming need, I bench-press her down to my lips, capturing her bottom lip between mine. I gently suck, the taste of candied lip-gloss tempting my taste buds, and the scent of summer and honeysuckles flooding my senses. It’s soft and fleeting, just a whisper, and leaves me wanting more—so much more.
“But you? I’ll always forgive you, Tink,” I whisper as I raise her higher in the air. Her smile falters, and her eyes grow misty, so I swing her around behind me until she latches onto my neck and her legs wrap around my waist.
I carry her the rest of the way to the fig trees, loving the feel of her body pressed against my back. Her cheek brushes against the rim of my ear as she bounces with each step. Her breath dances down the curve of my neck, as she giggles and taunts me with “giddy-up” and “faster Cain Cain, faster.” Her fingernails clutch my shirt and scrape my chest. Her thighs squeeze my waist as she holds on to me, the same way I imagine she would if…
Fuck! Cow udders. Yellow toenails. Old man ear hair.
“We’re here,” I squeak, three octaves higher than my regular voice. She hops off my back with a graceful bounce, seemingly unaware of my “struggles.”
“Fig trees?” she asks.
“Yep,” I answer as I search out the most shaded tree and tug her underneath to sit with me. “This is the most peaceful place on Earth, I swear it.”
I prop my back up on the tree trunk, and Celia lays down, head in my lap and her feet crossed at the ankles. She closes her eyes and breathes in, the tiny hint of a smile playing on her lips. “We should have brought Biz. He would love it out here.”
I let out a laugh and shake my head. “I don’t think so. I tried that once and believe me, it’s a mistake I won’t make again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Close your eyes and listen,” I say, and she does what I ask. “Do you hear the birds?”
She nods, keeping her eyes shut. “It’s so loud, I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”
“There’s every kind of bird you can think of out here—robins, cardinals, blue jays, woodpeckers, and so many more. The figs attract them. They love the sweet fruit as much as we do, and really, can you blame them? It’s a bird conservatory, most of the time. Imagine an excited Biz raiding birds’ nests and angry momma birds pecking the shit out of him. The two of us barely made it out of here alive,” I say with a chuckle.
She lifts up on her elbow and laughs. “I can just picture it—you scooping up Biz and making a break for it, all the while shielding your head from the dive-bombing birds. I bet you two were a sight.”
“You could say that,” I agree as I pluck a couple of figs off the tree and hand her one. They’re warm from the sun, and when my teeth pierce the skin, the sweetness of the flesh and seeds fill my mouth. I eat the fig in one big bite, leaving only the stem, which I toss behind me. I look up at Celia and realize she’s watching me intently, fig still sitting uneaten in her hand.
She smiles and lifts the fruit to her lips and takes a tiny bite, closing her eyes and chewing slowly. Her eyes open, and she smiles at me. “Thank you for today. When I’m with you … I forget to be sad.”
I quietly watch her as she finishes her fig and tosses the stem over her shoulder. I reach up for two more and hand one to her.
“You’d better be careful, Tink. That’s a dangerous thing.” I keep a solemn expression, looking down and shaking my head.
“Is it now?”
“Oh yeah. Do you know what comes after forgetting to be sad?” Her lips twitch as she holds back her smile and lifts her eyebrows in question. “Actually wanting to be happy. You think you’re ready for that?”
She gently taps the fig to her bottom lip, and she blesses me with watery eyes and a smile. “I don’t know, but I think I’d like to try … with you, I want to try so badly,” she whispers, then takes a bite of her fig, her eyes never leaving mine as she chews slowly.
I reach for her, brushing my thumb across her cheek, and she leans into me. She closes her eyes and exhales softly, her lips parting as a breath escapes her. My hand continues the journey, landing with a firm grip on the back of her neck. Unable to resist another second, I pull her to me and meet her halfway. I press my lips to hers, softly at first, and taste the ripened fig juice and lip-gloss lingering between us. She responds to me with equal pressure, hesitant but curious. Needing more, I lick her plump bottom lip, then push into her mouth, sliding my tongue against hers. She whimpers softly, and I swear to Christ, my dick gets so hard at the sound, I’m afraid it’s turned to petrified wood. She inches closer, and her hands grasp my hair as I devour her. Not a word is spoken, but it’s the most intimate conversation I’ve ever had.
I grab her hips and tug until she falls on top of me, hardened nipples grazing my chest. I run my hand down her perfectly rounded ass, gripping tightly and pushing her into my hard cock. My eyes roll back in my head from the delicious friction.
She pulls away slightly, then presses her lips back to mine before pulling away again, landing on her knees. She rests her forehead against mine and keeps her eyes closed. “Wait,” she exhales. “I can’t … I shouldn’t … I don’t know…”