Page 61 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

“Aaaverrreee,” he moans. A quick glance confirms that his smile has only grown wider, so I continue my exploration, playing his flute with my lips, teeth, tongue, and fingers.

Who knew that skill sets learned in marching band could pay off later in life?

When I take him fully into my mouth, he grabs the sheets. When I pump him with my hand and lave the head with my tongue, his hips roll. But when I combine the two, increasing speed, he growls, “I’m gonna come, sweetheart.”

He tries to pull me up his body, but I swat him away. I want to feel this, I want to take him there. He gives up the protest pretty quickly, and I speed things up, finding a rhythm, and then he’s pistoning into my mouth and hand. My walls clench like he’s inside me and when he spurts into my mouth, I’m shuddering too, pleasure shooting through me as I swallow.

Sometime later, after I’ve collapsed next to him and am snuggled into his chest, I remember that he was going to admit to something before I ravished him. “What was it you were going to tell me before?”

His brow furrows for a moment. “Oh. I remember now. It’s just that… your willingness to be adventurous has surprised me this weekend.” His voice raspy, he says, “After we… you know… on the phone.”

Laughing, I whap him with a pillow. “Josh Harmon. If this girl can say the word sex, you can too.”

“Well, that’s my point. You don’t swear, and when we hadphone sex”—he leans close and overarticulates the words—“I did most of the talking. So I kind of thought you’d be… I don’t know, timid in bed.”

I purse my lips and consider his words. “The word thing is separate from sex for me, for one thing. As for the phone sex, I was working so hard to picture you while feeling everything so much, I don’t think I could’ve formed a sentence.”

He traces a finger over the curve of my shoulder. “I would’ve been happy to explore this body any way you wanted. But it’s been an extra bonus to watch you let loose.”

I want to talk about what happens next, but we only have an hour before we have to check out. So I roll on top of him, capture his lips with mine for a savoring kiss, and then whisper, “Last one to the shower’s a rotten egg.”

Between the notes I took, the ideas we brainstormed, and the contact info for people I hope to continue to collaborate with—not to mention the consult I have scheduled with Frances O’Leary—my Wildwood Retreat Center notebook is almost full by the time we pack up the car and head down the drive. Kind of like me: my belly’s full of an amazing breakfast, my body’s more sexually sated than it’s ever been, and my heart is full of hope for the future.

I’m a teensy bit nervous about what’ll happen when we get back to the real world, but for now, staring out the window as the trees and meadows and hills and streams and farmhouses and quaint downtown streets roll by, Josh’s free hand resting on my thigh, I’m happy to put it off as long as possible.

Josh seems much less concerned about what awaits back at home. “I want to tell my parents about us first, then I think Mabel.” He sets his right hand on the console between us, palm up. “What do you think the kids should call you?”

“Are you sure it’s not too early?” I counter. “I just don’t want them to be confused.”

“Confused by what?”

“Well, they’ve only ever had a mom, right? From what you’ve said it sounds like you haven’t brought home any girlfriends.”

His lips press together in thought. “Maybe just Avery. Although, I guess Percy should still call you Miss Avery in class.”

“See?” I give his hand a squeeze. “It’s a little confusing.”

“No more than if youwerehis mom. I mean, if you were his teacher, he wouldn’t call you mommy in class.”

“If I were his mom, I wouldn’t also be his teacher.”

“Good point,” he allows, squeezing me back. “I’m not worried. We’ll figure it out.”

Startling awake, it takes me a moment to figure out where I am, but when Josh says, “Hi, Mom. I’m on the way home,” and I look out the window to see the Hudson flowing by, I relax back into my seat, determined to savor the rest of the time alone with him.

“How far away are you?” Frieda’s voice is tinny in the car speakers, but the panic in her tone has me sitting up straight.

Josh glances at the navigation screen. “Just about thirty minutes, but we were thinking of stopping for lun?—”

“Oh, thank god,” his mother says.

“Is something wrong?”

“Well, yes. I’m so sorry and I don’t know how this happened but… Mabel is missing.”

The car swerves slightly and Josh goes white as a sheet. “She’s what?”

I lean closer to him and grip the steering wheel. “Frieda, this is Avery. I’m going to get Josh to pull over.”

---