Patience

He took a deep breath and let it out. He looked on the verge of saying something, but I spoke first.

"I think about you all the time." I put my hand on his knee again and he reached out and took it away, holding it in his.

"Amy," he said in a voice with authority in it. "Don't. I think I know where this is going and I...I can't go there." He let go of my hand. "I like you too. You're...God, you're fantastic, but I don't...I can't think that. About you." As he spoke, the authority faded from his voice and his speech took on abnormal pauses, his inflection all wrong.

"Why not?"

His brow darkened and he turned his head away as Tyler toddled over to the couch, dropped a toy into my hands, and proceeded to climb up onto my lap. I picked my son up and let him have my attention for a minute while he showed me the toy he'd brought me. There was a prolonged, weighted silence.

"It's the age thing," I said after a while, not lifting my eyes to his.

"The age thing, yes, but more because it's not just about what I want or you want. There are other people involved."

"Angela."

"Yes, and your parents—how would they feel if they knew? I know how I'd feel if I found out my daughter was with a middle aged man."

Tyler wiggled his way off my lap, discarding the toy and heading back off across the room for another. I watched him, feeling sad and frustrated. I knew Simon was right, but I didn't want him to be. Impulsively, I turned toward him again, moving onto my knees on the couch beside him. He looked at me with a little alarm, but didn't say anything.

He hadn't said he was attracted to me, but he hadn't denied it either. And he was still sitting here. And he was close enough to touch. And I wasn't sure I could resist at least trying; a year and a half is a long time to go without so much as a kiss.

I leaned closer and put my hand on his chest, moving slowly as if he was an animal I didn't want to spook, and waited a heartbeat to see if he'd stop me before I closed the distance between his mouth and mine.

I closed my eyes, still half expecting him to stop me. I'd felt his chest expand when I touched it and it stayed expanded beneath my palm, his breath held as he waited. I kissed him softly, just pressing my lips to his, and he responded with equal softness. It was a chaste kiss, a question held within it, and when I opened my eyes I searched his face for an answer.

He exhaled slowly as I drew back, but he didn't move.

"Your parents would kill me," he said softly, but he didn't move away or even look very upset. I could see he wasn't going to reach for me, but maybe he wouldn't stop me either. I moved my hand from his chest to his neck. I felt the throb of his pulse against my palm as I leaned forward and kissed him again, still softly, still with my passion restrained.

"Amy, it's a lot to risk," he said when I next drew back.

I couldn't answer, I didn't know what to say. I knew he was right to question it, but I thought he wanted it too. I thought if I kissed him again, if I kissed him more, if I kissed him enough to stir his passion, he'd lose his resolve. He'd give in.

For a second I wondered if I was really that selfish, if I'd really do what I wanted knowing he'd rather I didn't. But I'd already kissed him, I'd felt his warm, soft lips against mine, felt his pulsing blood, the heat from his skin. I wanted more.

I leaned in close again and reasoned that if he really wanted to stop me, he would. He had free will. He was bigger than me. If he really didn't want me, he'd move away, he'd resist, he'd tell me no.

He lifted his hand and touched my face. His lips parted slightly and he cupped my cheek gently, holding me as we kissed. My head flooded with relief and arousal, my barely suppressed sexual frustration set alight by his slight advance. I turned my head, scooted forward a little, opened my mouth, wanting a deeper kiss, urged on by my need for contact.

I touched his lip with my tongue and when he gasped I ran it over his bottom lip hungrily. He returned my eagerness with passion, his tongue held teasingly behind his lips, inviting mine to search for it. I did, without hesitation, clutching at his neck as we explored with our tongues, teeth nipping, both of us taking quick little breaths of surprise and delight.

A crash behind me made me draw back. I turned to look, but Simon caught my chin and pulled me toward him again. "It's just the blocks," he whispered. "Don't worry about it." His mouth was on mine before he'd even finished his sentence, kissing me softly as he reached for me, pulling me closer. He was unrestrained now—kissing me with a sudden hunger, his hands holding me tight, breathing faster as he grew more and more aroused.

There was another crash, this time from the kitchen, and when I drew back then he let me go. We'd only been kissing a few minutes, but in that time the kids had turned the room upside down. Toys were everywhere, scattered and strewn. Emma sat quietly stacking a set of plastic blocks, but Tyler was nowhere to be seen; he was the source of the crash. I waded through the mess hurriedly, noting the crash hadn't been followed by crying, and found him removing the pots and pans from a low cupboard, dropping them behind him onto the floor with a crash as he worked.

I scooped him up, a little irritated, but mostly with myself, and started stacking the pots back in the cupboard.

"Don't," Simon said, crossing the room. "It's OK, just leave them."

I stood up, propping Tyler on my hip, and started to apologize.

"It's alright—he can scatter them through the whole house, I don't mind." He moved close to me and ran his hand over Tyler's messy curls.

I looked at him, at his gentle, lined face, the smile that always played on his lips, and the fond way he was stroking my son's hair, and felt a pain deep inside me—a longing, an aching, wanting him in so many ways. He didn't look at me for a few minutes and I wondered what he was thinking, if he regretted what had just happened. When he did finally turn his eyes to me again, they were full of uncertainty.

"What do we do now?" I asked. It was a few long seconds before he answered, plenty of time for my dread to build.

"Is there a now?" His voice was soft, he sounded sad.

"I want you," I said just as softly.

He sighed.

"I'm sorry. I know that doesn't help, but it's true."

Tyler squirmed in my arms. I put him down and we both watched him return to his job of removing the pans from the cupboard.

"Is it really so bad?" I asked, looking back to Simon. "Why does anyone else have to know?"

"They don't, but if they did..." He looked up, sighed again. "It doesn't matter, though. Even if we could...I'd never be able to see you alone, without the kids, I mean."

Now it was my turn to sigh. I was grateful to my parents for all their help, but right now I felt trapped, stuck in perpetual house arrest. They'd relaxed a lot in the last year, but they still insisted I live by their rules, and there wasn't a lot of flexibility within those rules. I felt unfairly punished.

"Amy." Simon approached me and ran his hands down my arms, squeezing them gently. I could see he was going to say something important, and doubted it would be an invitation to his bedroom. I didn't want to hear it.

"I went on birth control a couple of weeks ago." I said suddenly, making him start.

He stared at me, clearly surprised.

"It was stupid, really, or maybe just optimistic. I mean, my parents aren't being as fascist about me going out lately, but even if I met a guy I liked..." I looked down at Tyler, happily crawling into the cupboard to reach the pots in the back. "Even if they wanted to sleep with me, how many of them are going to find me attractive with a toddler in tow? How sexy is a single mom to a guy my age?"

Simon's hands flexed, squeezing my arms. I looked up at him, embarrassed, but his face was kind, encouraging.

"I haven't had sex in almost two years," I blurted out. "I know it doesn't matter, I know it shouldn't—it's just sex, but fuck...I miss it. I miss feeling sexy. After I got pregnant, it's like my whole sense of self fell apart. I only started feeling more like myself again when I met you."

He looked a little surprised, but didn't say anything, his hands still on my upper arms, holding them gently.

"It wasn't just that I thought you were hot, but I did. I do. You're the sexiest man I can even imagine, Simon." I paused, and watched him swallow, still staring at me, obviously taking in every word. "It's not just that, though. It's that you made me feel...like I was doing something right, like I wasn't just a fuck-up."

His brows tightened and for a second he looked like he was going to say something, but he didn't.

"And when you kissed me," I continued, "a few minutes ago...God, that felt so good. It was the first time in a long time I felt sexy."

"Amy," he breathed. He looked desperate, conflicted. "You are incredibly sexy."

"I just want to feel like that again. I just want to be with you, Simon. And feel that good. With you."

He hesitated a second and then folded me into his arms, kissing me hard on the mouth. I could feel the desperation in his kiss, the urgency, and as he held me close. I wrapped my arms around his neck and we kissed deeply, hungrily.

He ran a hand down my hip and over my ass, his fingers curling to grasp my flesh through my jeans. I sighed and lifted a hand to run it through his hair. His mouth moved from mine and he nudged my head to the side, pressing his whole open mouth to my neck, his tongue hot on my skin.

My body was pulsing with desire—my breasts aching to be touched, my pussy swelling with expectant need. I pressed my hips forward, wanting to slip my hand between us, to see if he was hard, but before I could, he bit my neck, making me squeal.

"If I could fuck you right here and now, I would," he said, lifting his head and grabbing me by the arms again.

"Simon!" I said, surprised and thrilled by his language, my heart jumping excitedly.

"I can't. I want to—I wanted to last time you were here—but I can't." His eyes were bright with passion and his grip on my arms was tight. "I've been fighting my feelings for months. You're only a couple of years older than my daughter, but I still want you, God help me."

He sighed and his hands loosened then dropped away from my body. At that moment Emma arrived at his side, reaching her little hands high, hopping slightly, until he bent to pick her up. He cuddled her, looking at me over the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "If I had all night to make love with you, I would. Even if it only happened once, if it never happened again...I would feel so lucky."

I stared at him, moved by his emotional confession, moved by the lust he was tucking away behind his sense of propriety, his role as a responsible adult.

"We can't even get five interrupted minutes in a row," he said, smiling at Emma. He sounded tired now, his passion burned out, his eyes no longer glowing with desire.

The next moment Tyler, having removed every pot and lid from the cupboard, toddled over and went through the same steps Emma had a minute before, asking to be lifted and held. I picked him up and faced Simon, feeling defeated, the hot sting of tears threatening. Tyler leaned into me, rubbing his eyes, and I looked around for a clock, suddenly glad to have an excuse to go. He didn't challenge me when I said we needed to leave.

He refused my offer to help clean up, and I worried he wanted me gone as much as I wanted to go. How had it changed so fast? Hot passion one moment to this awful, sinking feeling of loss.

I finally met his eyes once I'd gotten Tyler bundled up and my own coat buttoned.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't tell you how much."

I nodded, and checked my buttons unnecessarily, thanking him for having us over, and moved toward the door. I felt his hand on my arm as I opened it. I turned and looked into his blue eyes, even though it hurt to do so.

"Will I see you next week?" There was a touch of worry in his voice and my heart ached to hear it.

"I think so," I said, turning away. I could feel the tears coming again, so I kept my face turned away as I said a final goodbye and closed the door behind me.

I arrived home, having cried in the car once I was a few blocks away, feeling emotionally spent. I put Tyler down for his nap, and lay next to him for a little while, confused and disappointed. Why was it so hard? The attraction was there, but not the opportunity.

I stayed in a sad, tired mood all afternoon, and my mom, in a moment of irony I couldn't have constructed better, suggested I go out after diner—see a movie, go to the mall, do something fun and let her give Tyler his bath and put him to bed.

"Treat yourself to something nice, Amy; you deserve it."

//

Simon didn't turn on the porch light before he opened the door. He only looked at me for a second, his face expressionless, before he stood back, letting me enter. It was like he'd been waiting, like he'd known what would happen but wasn't sure what he'd do about it when it did.

He closed the door behind me and for a second we just looked at each other. My worry grew. Would he send me away? Would he lecture me like I was his own daughter?

"How?" He said after a long silence.

"I don't want to tell you," I said quietly.

I unbuttoned my coat, waiting. He could still tell me to leave.

"Because you lied."

"Technically, no. But essentially, yes."

I slid my arms from the coat and loosened my scarf. I waited. It felt like five minutes he just studied me without moving, making his decision.

"I don't want to know," he said finally. And then he moved toward me and a shiver passed through me—relief and arousal flooding my body making me hot and cold at the same time. He pulled me to him and held me in his arms for a moment. I pressed my face into his collar, breathing in the scent of his body. He released me and brought both hands up, taking my head in them, tilting my chin so my face turned up toward his.

"I'm just glad you're here," he said, the slightest smile on his lips.

I watched his face draw near as he bent to kiss me, watched his eyes close and closed my own at the moment his lips touched mine. It was a soft, sensual kiss—gentle, wet, hinting at the passion beneath. It was a kiss of consent; if he'd had any ideas of turning me away, they were gone now. He paused, his lips still on mine, and I opened my mouth, inviting him in. I touched his lips with the tip of my tongue, felt them part, and wrapped my arms around him as I slid my tongue into his mouth.

He moved his hands to my waist, and as we kissed, I pushed against his chest, urging him to back up. Without breaking contact we crossed the room slowly. I searched out the buttons on his shirt and began undoing them. Already our affection was heated, frantic, needy. By the time we reached the couch I'd worked my way to his waist and was pulling the fabric of his shirt from the waistband of his pants.

We parted and as he sat back on the couch I climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips. Our mouths met again, harder this time, and I finished the last two buttons, pushing the fabric open and running my hands over his bare chest. A rush of excitement took my breath away. I drew back, gasping.

"I want you so bad, Simon." My head was spinning. There was so much I wanted to do, but I knew my time was limited. My parents had given me this—though they had no idea, and they'd expect me home in a couple of hours. It didn't seem like nearly enough time to be alone, but it was all I had. And I knew it might never happen again.

I reached for the button at the front of his pants, roughly undoing it. Then I stripped my shirt off in one quick motion, shaking the static from my hair as I tossed the shirt onto the floor.

"Oh my," he said, staring at my upper body. I could see his eyes following the outline of my black bra, a pleased smile stretching his mouth.

"I want you so fucking much," I said, leaning over to kiss him again.

I hadn't had sex in so long and I'd never wanted it more than this minute. If he tried to stop me now he would have had a hell of a time. I was determined to have him.

His hands slid over my arms and back lazily while we kissed. I shifted my hips back enough to work the zipper of his pants down and sat back, our kiss breaking wetly.

"Slow down," he said, grabbing my hands. "You're going to hurt someone if you're not careful."

I looked at him and realized I was tense with need, my mind in a whirl, blindly searching for more pleasure without really thinking. I smiled apologetically. "Sorry," I said softly.

He smiled back and brought my wrist to his mouth. He kissed it softly then opened his mouth, closing it over my skin, and sucked lightly. I could feel his tongue moving slowly over my skin—it was a strange sensation, hot and slithering and stirring something deep inside me. He lifted his mouth, letting his teeth drag over my skin before he brought my other wrist up and gave it the same, slow treatment. I heard myself whimper and he smiled.

"Patience," he said in a low voice.

He brought both my hands behind his head, pulling me toward him. He let them go and his eyes dropped to my breasts as I leaned forward. He eased me closer, his hands slipping around to cup my ass and lift me just a little higher, guiding me closer and bringing my breasts level with his face.

I looked down at him as he pressed his mouth against my breast, nuzzling it, his mouth opening as he did and until his lips were over my nipple which was hard and obvious beneath the thin fabric of my bra. He opened his mouth against it, flicking his tongue out to circle the sensitive flesh a few times.

He looked up at me as he moved his mouth to my other breast, repeating the same motions with agonizing slowness, all the while holding my gaze. He let his teeth close over my nipple gently before he drew away and I let out a little cry of surprised pleasure.

His hands came up between us to unhook my bra. The fabric sprang away and my breasts filled his open hands.

"Oh God, your breasts are perfect," he breathed, holding them gently for a moment. "Round and firm and irresistible."

He kneaded them gently, bringing one then the other to his mouth to kiss and suck. He moved so slowly and carefully I thought I was going to faint from the pleasure that built and built and built. I found I had the back cushion of the couch in a death grip and was holding my breath.

He leaned toward me, pressing his whole face into my cleavage, pushing the flesh of my breasts together against his face. He groaned appreciatively against my sternum, the vibration moving through my whole chest.

I brought my arms around his head and pulled him closer, holding his head against my breasts, feeling the heat of his breath on my skin and the thump of my heart in my chest.

He moved his hands from my breasts and I sat back again. My fevered need had calmed, to be replaced by a low, pulse that I felt in every part of my body. I slid from his lap, shaking my bra from my arms, and then undid the front of my jeans. He watched, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and pulling his arms from the sleeves. I worked the denim down my hips and then, impulsively, turned, presenting him with my backside, and finished lowering the jeans down my legs.

I knew his eyes were on the cheeks of my ass, bare and framed by the slight black elastic of my thong. I bent, giving him a view of the thin strip of fabric that nestled between my ass cheeks and flared slightly to cover my pussy, and slowly lifted one leg at a time to step out of the jeans. I kicked the garment to the side as I straightened and turned to find him gaping, his brow wrinkled in something like disbelief.