He groaned again.
"Quiet!" I scolded.
He groaned even louder. I had no idea what came over him, but he wouldn't shut up. I was still kneeling there, unable to move, like the witness of a slow-motion car wreck. His body lurched forward and his hands moved to cover his dick, but it was too late. Something hot and sticky spurted from the tip, spraying my face, at the exact instant that my door opened and my bedroom light flicked on.
"What the hell is going on in here?"
My mom's irate voice thundered from my open door. In a panic, I tried to wipe away the cum from my nose and chin, but it was so sticky it gummed in my fingers.
"Why, you little tramp!" my mother said, her voice rising in anger. "How dare you defile my house with some boy off the street?"
Nate gasped and scrambled to cover himself with my pillow, smearing the quickly drying cum all over my bed.
"That's not some boy," I said defiantly. "It's Nate, my boyfriend. We weren't doing anything you haven't done."
Anger flashed in my mom's eyes. She turned to Nate.
"Young man, put on your pants and get the hell out of my house."
Nate hopped from the bed, hysterically pulling up his jeans. He tripped and fell to the floor, but was back on his feet in half a second. Mom stepped aside as Nate barreled through my bedroom door, abandoning me with my evil witch of a mother. Way to be my knight in shining armor, Nate.
"And don't come back," Mom called after him as he rushed out the front door. "As for you," she said, turning back to me, "you are not to leave this room until further notice."
She slammed my door shut, and I heard her footsteps as she stomped away.
III.
When I woke up the next morning, my pillow was crusty from Nate's cum. How romantic. As I lay in bed, recounting my experiences of the previous night, I wished that I could bury myself under my covers and disappear forever. As a lover, Nate wasn't even a one-minute man. Then the whole encounter with my mom was absolutely horrifying.
I knew she told me to stay in my room, but I was a legal adult with a mind of my own. I wasn't some kid that she could ground anymore. Even so, it was probably better not to antagonize her right now. I crept out of bed and eased open my bedroom door. Down the hall, from the kitchen, I could hear my mother's shrill voice. She had someone on speaker phone.
"I don't care if he's indisposed," my mom was saying. "This is his wife, do you hear me? His wife, Marsha. I need to speak to him right away."
Mom was calling Trent? I couldn't believe it. As far as I knew, they hadn't said more than a few words to each other since the divorce was finalized.
To my surprise, the woman on the other end of the line capitulated. "I'll see if it's possible to disturb Mr. Paine at the moment," she said in a slightly distressed voice.
"Tell him it's an emergency," Mom said. "An emergency!"
///
The receptionist or whoever put Mom on hold, and generic music played. I could hear the click-click-clack of Mom's nails against our wooden dining room table as she waited impatiently.
"Marsha."
It was Trent's voice, his deep voice, like music from the distant past, when he and Mom were still married.
"Oh, hi!" Mom said, the vitriol gone from her voice. "Hi, Trent! How are you?"
"What do you want, Marsha?"
"What do I want? Can't I just call you sometimes?" she asked. "Maybe I miss the sound of your voice. How long has it been? Two years already?"
There was a pause before Trent spoke.
"I'm very busy, Marsha. My assistant said there was an emergency of some kind."
"Yes, a real emergency," Mom said, suddenly sounding desperate. "It's about our daughter. She's out of control, and so disrespectful. Last night I caught her … experimenting … with a boy that she snuck into her bed. Can you believe it? She's probably trying alcohol and drugs, too. Who knows? I need your help, Trent. You were the only one who knew how to get through to her."
"Ava's not my responsibility," Trent said. "Not any longer. You and your lawyer made that abundantly clear."
"Wait, Trent! Don't hang up," my mother begged. "Listen, I was wrong. She may not be your real daughter, but you're just as responsible as I am for the way she was raised. You divorced me, not your little girl. She needs you. I need you. Please."
"What do you want me to do?" Trent asked in an impatient tone.
Although I could not see my mom, my overactive imagination helped me picture her playing the damsel in distress. She was probably twirling a strand of her short hair, her brown eyes glistening with the hint (or threat) of impending tears.
"Would you take her in, Trent? Just for a little while? I truly believe a strong male role model would succeed where I have … not succeeded. Surely you would be willing to provide for her, at least until she leaves for college this fall. I hear that you have the means … "
"You read the article," Trent said flatly, cutting her off from discussing his newfound wealth. He took a deep breath. "Yes. I'll take Ava off your hands. Tell her to be ready by 3 o'clock this afternoon."
IV.
At 3 p.m. a sleek, black limousine pulled into our driveway. I ran outside to greet Trent, thrilled that he had come to rescue me from my mother. The driver, a nondescript white man in a tuxedo, got out of the limo.
"Hi, Ava," the driver said. "I'm Barney, Mr. Payne's personal assistant. Can I take your things?"
"Where's Trent?" I asked.
"Mr. Payne sent me to bring you back to his estate," Barney replied. He must have seen how crestfallen I was, because he quickly added, "Mr. Payne will see you tonight, I'm sure. He's a busy man these days."
Barney opened the door for me. I turned and saw Mom standing in the doorway, watching our encounter. I didn't say goodbye, and neither did she. Too much negative feelings that hadn't had time to cool off, I guess.
After I had crawled into the spacious backseat of the limo, Barney loaded my suitcases into the trunk, and he drove me away. A couple of hours later we arrived at the most impressive home I have ever seen. A mansion, really. Barney pulled the limo up to an elaborate wrought-iron gate and within a second the gate was opening automatically.
"Home sweet home," Barney said.
I stared out the window, marveling at my stepfather's estate. The manicured lawn, a gurgling three-tiered water fountain. The house itself looked to be at least four stories tall, with huge windows framed by dark blue shutters. Behind one of the windows on the second floor I thought I saw movement, but I looked again and the window was dark and empty.
Barney parked and escorted me from the limo and through the wide double doors, then through a vast hallway lighted by a crystal chandelier. I stopped to stare, but Barney motioned for me to follow him up a spiral staircase, down a hallway lined with large postmodern paintings, and into a dimly lit room at the end of the hall.
"Ava," my stepfather said.
His voice startled me, and I jumped a little. I swung around and saw him by a window, sitting at a chess board made of marble. Trent noticed my jumpiness and his eyes shone with amusement, which made me blush.
"It's been a long time," he said. "I missed you."
///
"I missed you, too," I replied.
Trent was even more handsome than I remembered. The past two years had treated him very kindly, though hints of gray were beginning to fleck his dark hair around the temples. When he stood up, I noticed he was wearing a dark and expensive-looking suit perfectly tailored to his frame.
He put his arms around me and gave me a hug. I loved the feeling of his big, hard body pressed against mine. For some reason I thought of my boyfriend Nate just then. When hugging his scrawny body I sometimes felt self-conscious about being bigger than him, but there was no reason to worry about that with Trent. He was 6-foot-2 or 6-foot-3, and built like a Roman god. He hadn't bothered to shave, and his rugged jawline was pleasingly rough like sandpaper against my forehead.
His body was so firm and warm, and I noticed that I was getting wet with desire. Snap out of it, Ava, I scolded myself. He's your stepfather.
Trent gave me a quizzical look, then asked me to take a seat in one of his leather chairs. He sat down in an identical chair next to mine.