Surrendering to Innocence Read online

  “We?” I asked. My heart fell when I saw Jake’s glossy eyes, then Wilson’s. Both of the boys were attempting to remove their shoes, obviously drunk, fumbling with their laces and bracing themselves against the wall.

  “Jacob Finnegan Cole!” I snapped, my eyes widening as I walked down to them. “Are you drunk?”

  He choked out a quick laugh before trying to regain seriousness, and stood tall at the front door, one boot removed and his jacket hanging off his arm.

  I glanced at an unbalanced Wilson and watched as his tongue darted out slowly, sweeping his across his full bottom lip. He gave my legs and chest an intense stare, and I could’ve told you exactly what he was thinking by his eyes. He followed up his expression with scratching his scalp to tousle his hair.

  With a shake of my head, I drew my attention away from Wilson and glared at my son. I raised him better than this. Is this the first time he’s gone out with his “friends” and gotten drunk? I taught him to be responsible about these things. I’m not an idiot, I get that kids are going to do this, but not without a sober ride! Not without some kind of supervision! A great upstanding member of the PTA I am. Oh god, if Darcy finds out…

  “Mother. Dear, dear mother.” Jake paused to collect his thoughts and smirked, grabbing his chest in sentiment. “I know what you’re thinking, but I really didn’t have that much to dri—”

  “Knock it off, Jake. Go to your room. We’ll talk about this later. I’m going to take Wilson or Williams—or whatever the hell his name is—home now,” I fumed. “Wilson,” I shot at him, “Get in my fucking car.” They gawked at my language as they stood silently. I have to admit, I was alarmed at my own expletive as well. “Now!” I shouted.

  Jake weaved up the steps as I grabbed my jacket from the banister and followed Wilson out the door.

  “Where do you live?” I asked, my voice cracking in anger.

  “The Jefferson neighborhood. The other side of the river,” he said with a smirk as he sat down in my car.

  “Put on your seat belt. And if you’re going to vomit, tell me so I can pull over. I don’t want the foul pungency violating my senses.” I glared at him quickly and pulled out of the driveway. “Or the interior of my car.”

  His eyebrows shot up, but he kept his lips pursed, halting his retort. We sat silently in the car for several minutes, and I was thinking of all the best possible ways to punish Jake when I returned.

  “You smell good.”

  My head snapped to meet Wilson’s eyes, but he was looking straight ahead with a goofy smile on his face.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Sorry,” he muttered after I gave him the stink eye.

  He’s just making seventeen-year-old conversation. The proper and polite thing to do is thank the boy for his compliment.

  “Thank you. I had just finished a bath when you and Jake walked in,” I said, clearing my throat and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. Silence seemed to swirl around us, causing me to feel the need to fill it with useless chatter. My shoulders remained tense as the unease consumed me.

  “You should try Epsom salts.”

  “What?” I asked, feeling my stomach flip.

  “Epsom salts.” He smiled and looked toward me. I quickly regained focus on the road again, refusing to make eye contact. “They make your most sensitive areas tingle a bit,” he added.

  I swerved the car at his words and swallowed so loudly that even he must’ve heard it over the quiet hum of the engine and the soft music from the radio. I felt my insides clutch, and my cheeks burned at the thought of him staring at me. And he was; I could see his smug grin out of the corner of my eye. He’s doing this on purpose. Quickly, I shoved my knees together and ensured my robe covered every inch of my exposed skin.

  I could only imagine what he was thinking with my sudden shifting and heavy breathing. This conversation is gonna get really inappropriate really fast if I don’t stop it. This kid was making me nervous. But he was pulling me in. I felt eighteen again, and it didn’t help that I’d already taken a trip down nostalgia lane earlier in the evening. And dammit if the thought of him didn’t give me butterflies.

  Change the subject, Christine. I’d already made up my mind to push him out of the car once we reached his house without telling his parents about this night. I heard him chuckle as he peered out the window. “Am I making you nervous, Ms. Cole?”

  I ignored his question. “I’ve decided I won’t be telling your parents about this, Wilson—”

  “Wats—”

  “Watson,” I cut him off sternly, pretending as though I’d corrected my own mistake. “But I want you to realize how much trouble a seventeen-year-old boy could be in with all of the inappropriate things you’ve done this evening. Not to mention dragging my son into your illegal behavior. You should be thinking about your future—”

  “Eighteen,” he said softly, his tongue darting across his mouth again.

  “What?” I snapped again, stealing a sideways glance.

  Smiling, he glanced toward me and down to the slit in my robe. I followed his gaze, heat rushing to my cheeks. Dammit! My knees bucked together when I realized I’d just been displaying my cooter.

  He laughed at me—again—and whispered, “I’m eighteen.” His brow raised and he looked straight ahead at the road. “And I’ll have you know that any illegal behavior that took place this evening had nothing to do with me. Your son invited me to the party. They were his friends. I don’t really have any to speak of, and certainly none that would be hosting parties like that one.” He peeked at me briefly, and stared back at the road again. “And we didn’t drive.”

  “How did you get back, then?”

  “We walked.” My head was spinning as he pointed to his driveway. I obviously don’t know my son as well as I thought.

  “So let me just clue you in on a few things, Christine,” he began, cutting off my train of thought. “You’re pretty naïve for someone your age. You’re sexy as hell, but ignorant. We’re eighteen, and we’re gonna drink. We’re gonna party, and we’re gonna have sex. Next year, we’ll be in college, and that’s a whole different ball game.” He laughed and wiped his mouth with his thumb and index finger. After a brief glance in my direction, one eyebrow rose. “I bet you didn’t even know your son had a girlfriend, did you?”

  My jaw dropped open as I pulled up in front of his house and put the car in park. I raised my hand to slap the little shit’s face. “And another thing, Ms. Cole,” he caught my hand mid-air and paused, letting the unease settle between us further. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want to fuck me. You might have everyone else fooled about your innocence, but the look on your face ten minutes ago was a dead fucking giveaway of just how much you want it.” What look? When? He smirked and let go of my wrist, letting it fall limply to my lap.

  My stare hardened and my fists balled. “You presumptuous—playing— waste of a—” I couldn’t stop the insults from flying, but couldn’t complete a single name I wanted to call him. “Foul-mouthed, ever loving— man…whore! I can not believe these things are coming out of your mouth!” My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel my pulse in my neck.

  Grinning and putting his hand on the door handle, he stopped and slid back in close next to me. He grazed the opening of my robe with his fingertips as they swept up to my chin, causing an involuntary shiver, instantly hardening my nipples. “You had a kid at seventeen years old, Ms. Cole. I’m eighteen and still a virgin. So tell me again who the whore is in this scenario.” His fingers closed my open jaw and he chuckled. “You might want to keep that mouth shut. I have a feeling that’s what got you into trouble in the first place.”

  He held me frozen in place with his deep brown eyes for a second longer, his thumb rubbing along my lower lip. Then without another word, he slid out of my car and took the stairs two at a time up to his front door.

  My jaw popped back open when he turned back to look at me, and with a wink and a quick nod of his head he shu
t the door behind him. It probably took me more time than it should’ve to regain enough composure and loosen my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. How this kid could’ve pissed me off so much and yet left me completely breathless, without words, without courage, and only one horrible, tasteless, sick, perverted thought running through my mind was beyond my comprehension.

  That boy was sexy as hell. And I had to stay as far away from him as possible.

  Virgin, my ass.

  Chapter 4

  I’m awake. No, I’m still dreaming. I don’t want it to end.

  “It’s been too long, Christine,” he whispered. “Ten years is too long for you to continue denying your body what it craves,” he added, gliding his rock hard body against the softness of my skin. I couldn’t see his face, and I didn’t care. I knew this was a dream.

  My hand slid down under the covers, my fingers fondling my clit while my eyes remained closed, watching the dream unfold.

  “Fuck me, please,” I begged.

  “No need to beg. I’m here. I won’t tease you too much longer.”

  I laughed, reveling in his fingers inside of me in my dream, and my own in reality.

  “But right now I want you to fuck my face. Bury me inside your pussy, so that when you come I can taste it, smell it, and won’t be able to rid myself of your scent until tomorrow morning.”

  I grabbed his hair tightly and pulled, doing as he instructed. My thighs hugged his cheeks, and my ass lifted off the bed. As my pussy found his tongue, I grinded against it, finding the spot I wanted, needed.

  My fingernails found his shoulder blades, and I pressed down as the tempo in my hips increased. He moaned a little, and it only drove my desire more. I was so close.

  He pulled my hips closer still and his tongue dove in and out of me, making the sexiest slurping noise—milking me, cleaning me up, consuming every last ounce I could give him.

  “Mmmm,” he hummed, and it was my undoing. I thrashed at the sheets and pumped my hips against his face until the sensitivity was too much to bear. And just as he crawled up to lay beside me, I turned to him, breathless.

  Watson was smiling back at me.

  “When am I gonna be old enough for you, Ms. Cole?”

  “Fuck!” I woke with a start, my hand still down my undies. I threw the sheets off me, disgusted with myself—but so entirely aroused and alert from a long overdue orgasm that my own selfish satisfaction quickly won over.

  Oh god, that tongue.

  Knock it off, Christine. He’s too young. He’s too young. He’s too young.

  After my shower, I decided not to punish Jake for his behavior the night before. After all, he’d been planning this beach get together with his friends for over a month and I’d already paid for the food and a cheap volleyball net for the kiddos to play. Besides, I was still so shaken up from my experience in the car with Watson that I barely thought about Jake’s punishment. I hadn’t come up with a suitable reprimand, and flashes of the dream I’d had the night before were creeping in at random.

  I left the food and sunscreen in two paper bags on the counter with his name on them, and ran back into my room and hid until I heard the front door slam. Then I dove straight into the task of laundry.

  Anxiously glancing at the clock all morning, I felt strangely restless, eager—as though I had something I should be doing that day, but couldn’t place it. It was almost noon when I stopped folding clothes and looked at the clock—again.

  I paced in my office for several seconds, ignoring the alarm on my phone alerting me of laundry day, until I was satisfied that my thoughts were diverted.

  Whistling and making my way downstairs, I casually pulled my phone from my purse, looking for any missed calls. Never mind that no one called. Never mind that I needed someone to talk to. And If I wouldn’t have known better, I’d say I was looking for a distraction. But while filtering through my contacts, Mona’s name popped up as MoanAhh and I laughed as I hit the call button.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mona. It’s Christine.”

  “Hey! I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you so soon. What’s up?”

  “I need to get…out of the house this afternoon. Wanna catch up?”

  “Sure, my kids are just playing Xbox. My afternoon is totally open! Got a pen?”

  #

  Mona greeted me with a hug, and we passed her children playing video games as we walked toward the kitchen. Her house was decorated simplistically, with neutral tones separating a chair rail on the living room walls. Bulky, comfortable, chocolate brown furniture adorned the room as well.

  The kitchen walls were covered in small glass tiles in blues and greens, matching the shade of the limestone countertop.

  “So, you said Ryan left, what, ten years ago? Have you been dating then?”

  I tugged at my bottom lip. “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged noncommittally.

  “Chrissy? When was the last time you got laid?” she asked, crossing her hands over her chest, scolding me in a way that only moms can.

  “Mona! No need to use such…language!”

  “Cut the bullshit, Chris. You and I both know that the PTA, bad haircut, khaki-wearing mom gig isn’t you. It never has been and it never will be. So cut the act, will ya?” She smiled.

  My mouth gaped. “But I am a mom. And I am in the PTA.” I frowned, pulling my hand through my hair. “But is my hair really that bad?”

  Laughing, she reached her arm across the island and grasped my wrist. “Oh, Chris. I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you last night. You look…well, you just don’t look happy. We used to have a shitload of fun together—you were carefree and adorable. You didn’t give a shit what people thought of you.” Mona stood and poured us both a cup of coffee. She set the mug in front of me and smiled. “But when I saw that Darcy chick talking to you like you were an adolescent, it burned me to see you taking crap from her.”

  I looked down, ashamed to admit how true her words were. “You’re right. I know I should’ve said something to defend you.”

  “Oh, I don’t give a shit about me. She can talk trash all she wants. But to see you standing there, I just thought: Christine’s life seems…sad. And then when you told me that Ryan had left you, it all started to make sense.”

  I nodded, trying not to feel sorry for myself.

  She slapped her knee and her posture straightened. “So let’s start with the basics, shall we?”

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “How long has it been since you were with a man?”

  “Mona!”

  “Well, we need to get you back out there somehow! You’re divorced, Christine, not dead. When Jake goes to college in the fall, you’ll be all alone in that house of yours. Soon, you’ll get a cat. Then two more. And eventually I’ll be calling the show Hoarders only to uncover ten years’ worth of cat shit and coupon clippings.” A chuckle escaped and she shook her head, trying to be serious again. “I’ve seen it happen before. It’s tragic.”

  I rolled my eyes and giggled along with her.

  “So? How long has it been?”

  This is embarrassing. “Um, 2004? I think.”

  Mona’s jaw dropped. “Do not tell me the last man you were with was your husband!”

  I scratched my head and avoided eye contact, remaining silent.

  “Shit. Okay, we have more work to do than I thought. Sit down on the couch, and I’ll grab the wine.”

  She shooed her kids upstairs and within an hour she’d gone over some basics I’d long forgotten: the essential rules of lovemaking.

  I covered my mouth in shock. “You mean…you want me to let him put his manhood in my butthol—”

  “Manhood! Oh god, Chris! For the love of all that is holy do not call it his manhood! I don’t even think that shit works in romance novels anymore.”

  It does in the ones I’ve read.

  “What should I call it, then?”

  “Hi
s cock! Or dick, or schlong, or prick. Enough with the Betty Crocker bullshit. No using words like ding-a-ling, hoo hoo, pee pee, or manhood. You’re not baking cookies, Christine, you’re chugging cock!”

  I went instantly on the defensive. “I’ll have you know that my peanut butter and chocolate gluten-frees are extraordi—”

  “Christine! Focus. This isn’t the time to take offense about a recipe. If I ever decide to enter a bake-off at the county fair, I’ll call you. But right now you’re getting schooled on sex. Packing the pleasure pit. Slapping the sloppy fun pocket. Diddling the dingis—”

  My hand flew up. “I got it.”

  She’s right, though. I took in a surge of air, and once she was satisfied I wasn’t going to chime in about anything off-subject, she continued.

  “You’re gonna let him fuck you blind. He’s gonna call you a slut, a siren, a slag, or his whore, and you’re gonna like it.” She nodded with wide eyes, waiting for me to agree. “It’s time to be naughty again. Can you handle that?”

  The word instantly made my lady bits tingle and my cheeks flush. I gave her a nervous smile and she was happy I understood.

  “And broaden your language capacity. Occasionally use words that the kids do. And for God’s sake, swear. Use the word fuck. A lot. Got it?”