She frowned, but didn’t correct me. Her politics intrigued me. The fact she had rejected her father's conservatism meant she was a bit rebellious. I liked that. It meant she was trying to think on her own.
"The Foundation continues his work today. Everything we do in the Foundation is to try to fulfill my father's vision, even if only in a small way. He was so committed to his causes." I spoke more about the foundation and why my father started it, how it gave him a chance to give back the money he felt he didn’t need or deserve.
She watched my chin while I spoke as if too shy to look me in the eye, and I enjoyed her reticence. It made me want all the more to force her to look me in the eye when she came. I was going to make her come, of that I was certain. There was nothing I loved more than the moment a sub went over the edge, her orgasm starting, pleasure washing over her, removing the last vestiges of self-control, struggling to obey my command to look me in the eye. It was a moment of such intimacy that it intensified their experience, baring them in a way that being naked and fucked alone didn’t achieve.
I stopped speaking and she said nothing as if transfixed by my mouth. I couldn’t stop from smiling. What was she thinking? Did she imagine kissing me, the way I was imagining kissing her?
I doubted it. She seemed far too shy to imagine me eating her while she watched me, our eyes meeting while I sucked her clit.
"I'm sorry." She made a face, her cheeks red. "Can you tell me what project you're most proud of?"
I said something about the pediatric neurosurgery program the foundation funded, but in truth, my dick was semi-hard thinking about fucking her and so I barely remembered a word of it.
"Your father died while in Africa several years ago.”
That jolted me back to reality, and not in a pleasant way.
"Yes,” I said, missing him even now, almost a year later. “He died just after you came back from Africa."
"What happened?"
I thought about it, deciding how much to tell. I didn’t really want to reminisce about my father, but she seemed interested so I told the story of how his plane crashed while on a trip to Somalia.
"He was flying into a small base camp where he was going to do some work with a local charity. Even though we were political opposites and didn't always see eye to eye, when he died, it was as if the ground was ripped out from under me." I looked in her eyes and she was listening with rapt attention. "Nothing has been able to fill the hole. Nothing. I took over the helm of his foundation because I thought doing his work might heal me in some way. That's how your father and I became friends. He came to the funeral and it was like he adopted me."
"I guess I just never saw my father as someone who would do that."
That shocked me. "What? Act fatherly?"
She nodded. "I mean, he's an authoritarian type – head of the family and all. But not to, you know, step in and act as a father substitute."
"He did,” I said, still surprised, my voice wavering a bit at the memory. “I relied on him to get through it."
During those first months, he spent quite a lot of time with me, much to my shock. We met for dinner and drinks, and talked in the sauna at the health club.
She actually teared up a bit. "I know what it means to lose a parent."
"Your mother died of cancer a few years ago,” I said, realizing that we shared a common loss. “The year before you went to Africa. Your father told me."
She nodded and stared off into the distance for a moment as if unable to leave the thought of her dead mother behind. It was in that moment that I also realized that perhaps I was wrong to pursue her after all. She was still very delicate if she teared up so easily at the talk of our dead parents, the wounds still raw.
"Well, that's all I have," she said finally, her voice sounding almost regretful that she didn’t have anything more to say. "I guess I should go. Don't want to keep you from the OR."
We both stood and I extended my hand, wanting to touch her once before we parted, for I knew that it would be the last time we met.
I wouldn’t ask her out. I wouldn’t pursue her.
She wasn’t in the lifestyle and perhaps wasn’t ready to be introduced to it.
She took my hand and I lifted hers to my mouth, pressing my lips softly against her knuckles.
"People have spoken so highly of you," I said, keeping her hand in mine. "So has your father. In the past few days, I've read up a bit about you, reread your articles on Mangaize. Still so impressive. I don't know who I was expecting when I thought about meeting you. Someone older. Different. I was so surprised to actually meet you."