I took one of her ni**les into my mouth, teasingly biting it as I sped up my thrusts. “Tell me.” I bit down on it harder. “Tell me right now...”
“I...Yes...Yes...” She shut her eyes and her body writhed underneath mine, climaxing at the exact same second as me. She shook for several seconds, and I let myself slowly fall on top of her.
We lay entwined for what felt like forever—gazing into each other’s eyes, smiling every few seconds, laughing at nothing at all.
After we’d checked out of the Ritz Carlton this morning, I’d decided to give her a tour of another one of my yachts—one of the ones I hadn’t sailed in a while. The tour only lasted two minutes though; we never made it past the bedroom.
“Am I hurting you?” I felt her trying to move her shoulder.
“A little.” She laughed and I rolled off of her.
I pulled her into my arms so we were face to face and sighed. “What are you thinking about now?”
“Nothing...”
“Your eyes give you away all the time.” I smiled. “That’s how I know when you’re lying to me.”
“I can talk to you about anything, right?”
“Of course you can.” I kissed her. “I don’t want any boundaries between us.”
She nodded and lay there silently, not saying another word.
“That wasn’t a question that led into another question?” I tried to read her eyes.
She laughed. “Not really...I just wanted to know.”
“Hmmm. Would you mind going to dinner with me and my mom next weekend?”
“You two are on good terms now?” She raised her eyebrow.
“I don’t know...I walked out on our last therapy session, so I wouldn’t necessarily say good terms...”
“You don’t think you can have dinner without arguing with her?”
Not unless you’re there...“I would just feel more comfortable if you came with me. That’s all.”
She smiled and moved closer to me. “Okay. I’ll come.”
“If you f**k this dinner up, I will never forgive you.” I drove my car into the turnaround and looked over at my mother. “Do you understand me?”
“What are you talking about, Jonathan? And watch how you talk to me. I’m still your mother... How can I possibly mess up a dinner?”
“You’ve messed up everything else in my life. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
She looked hurt. “You’re never going to forgive me for the past are you? Are you ever going to get over it?”
I didn’t answer her. I waited for the valet to walk up to my window and handed him the keys. “Let’s go.”
The last few therapy sessions we’d had were nothing like the ones we had before; they were brutal. I’d walked out on her three times because I refused to buy into her “I don’t really remember that happening” bullshit. I felt like she was copping out and not being completely honest. The only reason I even agreed to a dinner with her was because the therapist said we needed to try something new.
In fact, I almost called the dinner off until Claire encouraged me to go through with it. She thought I needed to give my mother a second chance since this was the longest she’d ever been clean.
I walked over to my mother’s side and helped her out of the car. I linked her arm in mine and walked inside the restaurant.
“Mr. Statham,” the hostess said, “your other guest has already arrived. Shall I take you to the table first or to the gallery room?”
“The table.”
“Right this way.” She led us onto an elevator and up to the top level. She walked us past a packed room of patrons and into an empty room with one table in the center of the floor.
My eyes quickly veered towards Claire. She was standing near the windows in a dark gray gown that perfectly accentuated her sexy curves. She must have heard us enter, because she immediately turned around and smiled at me.
I walked over to the table and pulled out her chair. “You look stunning tonight.” I kissed the nape of her neck.
“Thank you...” She sat down.
“I agree.” My mother nodded as I pulled out her chair next. “You’re a vision, sweetheart.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Statham.”
A waiter came over and cleared his throat. “Good evening ladies, Mr. Statham. Would you like to start off with our signature wine for the night, or would like to order something more unique?”
“My date and I will be having the signature wine. Mrs. Statham,” I said as I looked at my mother, “will be having your best juice.” I caught her rolling her eyes.
“Very well sir.” He sauntered off.
I was about to strike up a conversation, but a different waiter came over and set down our drinks—just that quickly. He politely went over the chef’s menu for the night and made suggestions, practically ordering the food for us.
When he walked away, I cleared my throat. “How was your day today, mother?”
“It was pretty good...They let me run the shop by myself. They’re going to let me choose the new treatments for the windows tomorrow. I already know what kind I want to get.”