Wilson's Hard Lesson (50 page)

“Thank you.” 

With feeding time finished, they found themselves feeling a
little hungry.  “Let’s grab a snack from one of the concession stands,” Erin
suggested.  “And this time,
I’m
buying.”

“Big spender,” Michael teased.

“Hey, have you seen these prices?” Erin asked.  “Six dollars
for a hot dog!  Five dollars for a big pretzel – and extra for the cheese!” 
She held up her hand.  “And I know it sounds funny to hear me complain,
considering that my family comes from money, but once I get a job I’ll be
moving out and covering all my expenses on my own.  My brothers can do it; I
should be able to do it, too.”

“And fiercely independent,” Michael added to the list of
Erin’s personality quirks.  They walked up to the concession stand.  “You got
that from your mother.”

“I also inherited some of her bossiness,” Erin said.  She
pointed sharply at the window.  “Now, get up here and tell them what you want.”

Michael chuckled.  “Yes, you
definitely
got that from
her.”  He gave Erin a playful wink as he stepped past her and placed his order.

Yep, I still find him attractive, Erin thought.  I’m doomed.

The sound of loud voices coming from the master bedroom made
Erin groan and roll her eyes.  Just the other day, she had passed that door on
her way to the living room and had happened to hear her mother let out a sharp
cry of “Michael!” followed by loud moans.  She had known in an instant what
that meant.  She had tried not to picture them having sex, but the moment she
had heard Michael’s deep voice and then the rapid thump of what could only be
the headboard hitting the wall, Erin had felt something twist low in her gut, a
sensation so sharp it made her clit quiver in sympathetic response.  She had to
race out of the house, but she had been unable to purge her imagination of
Michael’s lean, hard body moving, narrow hips pumping…

Now, as she came downstairs and started toward the kitchen,
she did not hear sounds of passion.  No, she knew the different tones of her
mother’s voice, and this one meant only one thing: anger. 
Jesus, they’re
fighting?
  Curious, Erin backtracked, moving quietly on the balls of her
feet back along the hallway toward the master bedroom.  She began to make out
bits of the conversation.

“All I’m asking is that you take some time off and spend it
with your daughter!” Michael said.  “She’s been home three weeks and you only
see her a maximum of ten minutes a day, if that.”

“I do not appreciate being told how to be a parent to my
children!” Mom snapped.  “Erin is a grown woman; she does not need me to hold
her hand every second of the day.”

“You’re missing the
point
, Marianne.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Mom said.  “I have students to
teach, I have patients to see, and I have to leave
now.
”

Erin could hear her mother’s heels on the hardwood of her
bedroom floor.  Quickly, she scooted back down the hall to the kitchen, heart
pounding.  She heard the sharp creak of a door opening.  Erin threw open the
refrigerator door and pretended to be searching for something to eat when those
quick, crisp footfalls reached the kitchen. Erin poked her head around the
fridge door.  “Hey, Mom,” she said with forced brightness.  “Have a good day at
work.”

“Thank you, honey.”  Grabbing her leather briefcase and her
car keys, Mom spared Erin a quick smile before marching out the back door. 

Erin watched her through the window over the sink, until she
saw the black Mercedes drive away.  She let out her breath in a rush. 
Well,
that was intense,
she thought.  She found it hard to believe that they
would be arguing – and that it would be about
her,
apparently, and the
fact that she and Mom never spent any time together.

Michael came into the kitchen a minute later, stopping in
the doorway. He looked surprised to see Erin standing there.  “I didn’t realize
you were up,” he said.

“I’ve recalibrated to the Central Time Zone,” Erin assured
him.  She hesitated.  “Look, um…I couldn’t help overhearing…”

Michael closed his eyes and swore under his breath.  “I’m
sorry,” he said, voice soft with sincerity.  He moved to stand with the island
counter between them.  “I don’t want you or your mother to think I’m trying to
tell either of you how to live your lives.  I would never do that.  I’m
just…frustrated, I guess.”

Whenever I get frustrated, I like to have sex,
Erin
thought, but held her tongue.  Of course, her brain just had to remind her –
again – about the sounds she had heard the other day.  It had not even occurred
to her at the time that it had happened in the middle of the afternoon.  On a
weekday. 
Wait a minute.  Mom took time off work to come home for
sex
? 
That meant one of two things: one, Michael had to be great in bed or two,
her mother was a size queen who would be willing to give up a few hours of work
just to get her hands on the Kowalski sausage Michael seemed to be smuggling in
his pants. 

“It’s okay,” Erin said, her words coming out a dry rasp as
she tried not to envision, based on the size of the package, the actual size of
what Michael kept in it.  She cleared her throat.  “I’m, ah, actually used to
it.  This is the way it’s always been.  Even before I was born, according to my
dad and my brothers.  Mom is addicted to work.  You either learn to adapt or, as
in my father’s case, you leave.”  She shrugged.  “That’s just the way it is.”

“Forgive me if I find that a little abnormal,” Michael
said.  He spread his hands over the countertop.  “I come from a large,
close-knit family of blue collar workers.  It’s hard for me to wrap my head
around the thought of people having kids and never spending any time together.”

Erin nodded.  “I get what you’re saying – I do.  My friend
Corrine and her family are the same way.  She has five sisters and three
brothers.  They get together every Sunday for dinner at her parents’ house. 
Phones, Gameboys – everything gets put in a basket and they focus on each
other.  They play board games.  They work together to prepare the meal.  I’ve
been there a few times as a guest and the first few times it just blew me away
that a family could be like that.”  She rolled her shoulders.  “Mine is the
abnormal one.  My brothers haven’t come home for Christmas in years.  Brandon
has to Skype with Mom just so she can see her grandchild – I think she’s
actually met the child in person
once
. Her first grandkid, who will be
two this year.  I think Dad has been out to see them at least once a month. 
But Mom?”  She shook her head.  “Nope.  And I don’t know if it even bothers her
at all.  I don’t think badly of her for it.  I know she’s helping a lot of
people and when you’re a doctor you sometimes have to make sacrifices.  Some
people can look at it and say it doesn’t seem fair.  I think we could
all
walk away and she would still not change.  It’s who she is.”

“So I’m beginning to see.”  Michael fell silent for a few
moments.  His gaze wandered across the counter to Erin’s pajama shirt of
choice, an oversized white and black pinstripe baseball jersey with black
stylized letters spelling out SOX in a descending diagonal emblazoned in over
the heart.  “White Sox fan, huh?”

“All my life,” Erin said.

Michael pursed his lips.  “You know…I have season tickets,”
he said. 

Erin’s eyes widened.  “You do?”

He nodded, chewing on his lower lip.  “Double Play, Lower
Box, close to third base.  Game starts at one o’clock.  They’re playing Kansas
City.”  He glanced up at her and raised an eyebrow.  “You want to go?”

“Is this a trick question?” Erin laughed.  “Oh my god,
yes!” 

“Well, your mom said she wanted us to hang out together.” 
Michael shrugged.  “I can’t think of anything that bonds two red-blooded
Americans together like a game of baseball.”

Erin looked at the digital read out on the stove’s clock. 
It was almost ten.  “I can be ready to go by 11:45,” she said.  “That should
give us time to get there, park, grab a couple of beers, and get to our seats.”

“Sounds good.”  Michael motioned her in the direction of the
door. 

Erin grinned.  As she made her way past him, she slapped him
lightly on the arm.  “Bitch,” she muttered.  “All this time, you’ve had season
tickets…  You’ve been holding out on me!”

Michael laughed.

They got to the stadium by noon.  The sky had started to
cloud up.  The local weather forecast called for evening rain but it could roll
in faster.  “Just hold out until the end of the game,” Erin said, looking
skyward with palms pressed together in supplication as she and Michael made
their way into the building.  She had traded her white sleeping jersey for one
in black with white lettering and white and grey bands at the ends of the short
sleeves, over a pair of white pedal pushers. 

“I thought you weren’t particularly religious,” Michael said
mildly.  He had gone with one of the “South Side” t-shirts popular among fans
and a pair of faded jeans.

“The Sox
are
my religion,” Erin said.

The seats turned out to be great.  They waited until after
the singing of the national anthem before getting their beers and settling in
for the game.  On more than one occasion, Michael laughed at Erin’s
enthusiasm. 

At the top of the eighth inning, the stadium vibrated with
thunder.  Menacing clouds hung overhead.  By the middle of the eighth, the
first fat raindrops began to pelt the fans and players alike.  The call was
made amidst much booing from the stands: the game had to stop.  While the
groundskeepers raced to cover the field, everyone else hurried to get out of
the downpour. 

“Come on!” Michael shouted to Erin, who shrieked as a
brilliant flash of lightning and an explosion of thunder cracked the air around
them.  They made it to Michael’s Jeep Cherokee and clamored inside.  The rain
had started coming down with such ferocity they could not see past the hood,
the roar of it beating down on the roof drowning out the sound of their labored
breathing.  Erin and Michael looked at each other.  Hair plastered to their
heads, water dripping from nose and chin, clothes soaked through…they started
to laugh. 

And then, Michael leaned across the center console, and
pressed his mouth to Erin’s in a kiss.

At first, she froze, startled.  But then all that pent-up
attraction, all those forbidden fantasies, rushed forward.  Erin grabbed at
Michael’s face with both hands as she returned the kiss.  He pushed back the
driver’s seat and dragged her over into his lap, straddling it.  His hands
cupped her ass, moving up under her jersey, touching bare skin.  She ground her
hips down on his groin.  She could feel the heat and firmness of it pressing up
against her crotch.  They broke the kiss for a moment to gasp for air.  In the
interim, Michael fumbled with the buttons on Erin’s shirt until he succeeded in
getting them all undone.  He pushed the jersey off her shoulders, exposing the
black bra holding her breasts.  Erin gazed down at him, watching as he drank in
the sight of her heaving chest.  A moment later, she moaned as he pressed his
face into her cleavage, his breath hot on her skin.  The windows fogged up but
it didn’t matter if anyone could see them.  Erin could feel Michael’s hands on
her hips, now, pulling at her, guiding her into a deep, rocking rhythm.  She
felt him lift up into each pass.  She placed her hands on his shoulders and
closed her eyes, head tipped forward.  It felt so good, even if she knew in the
back of her lust-fueled brain that they should not be doing this. 

The blast of a car horn right next to the Jeep made them
both jump.  It also broke the spell.  Erin looked down at Michael.  He blinked
several times, looking around and then down at their bodies.  “Oh,” he rasped. 
“I’m…we…”

She nodded.  “Yeah.”  She climbed off him, returning to the
passenger seat.  She could still feel a tingling between her legs, unfulfilled
desire.  She could only imagine how much worse it had to be for him.  Her
fingers shook as she buttoned up her jersey and then combed her fingers through
her wet hair.  The Jeep started up.  She looked over at Michael.  They traded
another silent, shaken glance. 
It’s there,
Erin thought. 
He feels
it, too. 

Erin looked away. 
What do we do, now?

They did not speak for the ride home.

For the next few days, Erin and Michael avoided each other. 
Neither of them could deny the connection between them, the spark.  One thing
that stood in their way of resolving this conflict: Erin’s mother.  It went
unspoken but Erin could tell neither of them wanted to hurt Mom. 

Erin decided to get out of the house for a while and let
things cool down.  She asked Corrine if she could crash on her sofa, no
questions asked.  Of course, Corrine had said yes, but she did not need a
confession this time to know why Erin had to flee her home.  Erin knew Corrine
could see it.  She already knew Erin had been struggling with her attraction to
Michael; for her to suddenly want to stay over a few days spoke volumes. 

At the end of the week, Erin decided to go home.  For one
thing, she had only packed a small tote bag for her stay at Corrine’s. 
You
can’t stay away forever,
she chided herself. 
Just go back.  Act casual.

Wonderful scents assailed her as she entered the house.  She
passed the dining room and saw the table set for a romantic candlelight dinner,
two places.  In the kitchen, she could hear the sound of water running, the
oven opening and closing.  And Michael.  She could hear him talking, holding a
one-sided conversation. 

“Working late? 
How
late?  Seriously?”  He snorted. 
“Well, it was going to be a surprise but I made dinner.”  Pause.  “
Bistecchine
di maiale.
  You said it was your favorite.”  Another pause; Erin could hear
his agitation mounting.  “Well, what if I brought it up to the hospital?  Could
you take a break long enough to eat?”  He paused again, and she heard him
disconnect emotionally, every word clipped.  “Okay.  You know what?  That’s
fine.  Yep.  No problem.  I’ll just leave it on the table and you can eat it
when you get home after midnight.”

Erin jumped when she heard the oven door slam, followed by
another violent crash.  She peered into the kitchen.  Michael whipped off the
apron and flung it across the room.  Grabbing a pair of silicone pot holders,
he swept a steaming pan off the stove and headed for the dining room.  He
stormed past Erin without seeing her.  She heard him drop the pan on the table,
causing the place settings to rattle.  Cautiously, Erin moved to follow.  She
found Michael leaning over the table with his back to her, an apron tied around
his neck and waist over a dark t-shirt and jeans.  She could see the tendons
standing out on his arms as he gripped the edge of the table, and for an
instant she thought he might flip it.  A floorboard creaked under her step. 
Michael whirled around, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.  Startled.  He relaxed
when he saw Erin.  “Your…mother…is working late.”  He motioned to the food.  “I
made Florentine pork chops, roasted vegetables with a sage and butter sauce…” 
He sighed, and she could see the emotional exhaustion in every line of his
chiseled face.  “Are you hungry?”

Erin moved around him.  Reaching into the pan, she selected
a cherry tomato and bit into it.  Flavor exploded across her tongue.  “It’s
good,” she said softly.  She looked up as Michael pivoted to face her.  The air
felt heavy around them.  She could feel her heart pounding. 

They came together suddenly, moving simultaneously, both of
them desperate.  Michael grabbed Erin’s ass, kneading it, pulling her up on her
toes.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down to her.  Their
tongues spiraled into each other’s mouth, pushing, fighting for dominance and
retreating.  He lifted her up and then she found herself on her back across the
table, Michael shoving the plates aside to give them room.  Erin pushed herself
up right, sitting on the edge of the table.  She grabbed at Michael’s t-shirt,
rucking it up to expose his hard abs.  Michael assisted by stripping the shirt
off over his head and tossing it aside.  Swooping in, he caught her lips in another
kiss. She raked her short fingernails over his chest.  Again, they parted, and
she lifted her arms so he could remove her tank top.  She took the initiative
and unhooked her bra, quickly flinging it away.  Michael grinned when he saw
her now bare breasts.  He cupped his hands up under them, lifting them to his
mouth as he bent his head to suckle at her nipples.  Erin gasped at the rough
drag of his beard stubble across one sensitive peak. 

Pushing her to lie back, Michael hooked his fingers in the
waistband of her capris and tugged both them and her panties down together. 
Once he had her naked, he took a moment to look her over, the blue of his
irises almost nonexistent due to his widened pupils.  Reaching over to the
casserole dish, he dipped his fingers into the butter sauce and drew circles
around her nipples and down her belly.  He leaned over her and retraced that
path with his tongue.  He slid his hands under her knees and lifted her legs up
and spread them apart.  Erin watched him, quivering, as he kissed down the
inside of one thigh.  Her head dropped back on the table when his mouth reached
her mons. Just as she imagined it, his tongue swirled up between her labia,
seeking out her clit.  She arched her hips up her fingers trying to find purchase
on the linen tablecloth beneath her.  “Oh god,” she breathed, pelvis jerking in
time with every flick of his tongue.  “Yes…please…yes…”

Michael rose to his full height again.  Gazing down at Erin,
licking her taste from his lips, he began to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his
jeans.  Erin watched, panting, eager to see what she had only ever imagined up
to this point.  Michael shoved his jeans down.  His cock tumbled free, thick
and heavy, veins standing out prominently along the engorged length and the fat
head of it a deep red.  Not just as Erin had pictured it – better.  She spread
her legs voluntarily and he gave her that shark grin. 

Shouldering up under her knees, Michael pulled Erin’s ass to
the very edge of the table.  The cloth slid with her.  Glassed tumbled over and
silverware hit the floor.  Erin laughed, anxious and excited at once.  She
watched him grasp his cock, stroke it a few times root to tip.  He rubbed it
against her mons, clear fluid leaking into her red curls and making them glisten. 
Moving the head lower, she felt it stroke down over her clit, and then slowly,
Michael began to press inside.  Erin inhaled sharply it had been months since
she had a man inside her, and Zach – which satisfying – could not hold a candle
to Michael when it came to size.  Michael pulled his hand away and slid his
palms under Erin’s ass, lifting her hips higher to give him just the right
angle.  He dug his fingers into her fleshy buttocks as he started to rock in
and out, pushing deeper with every stroke.  His lips pressed together and he
grunted, air escaping his nostrils.  He kept his gaze locked with hers, even as
her body shifted with every thrust and her breasts rolled back and forth.  Erin
grabbed at them to make them stop moving.  She saw Michael’s eyes flash and she
gave him a sly grin.  “You want me to play with them for you, baby?” she asked,
breathy.  She began to pluck at her nipples, tease and pinch them into hard
little knots.  “You like that?”

He answered with a growl and his hips began to pump faster. 
Erin moaned and arched her back.  She dug her heels into his shoulders and
pushed her pelvis up into his thrusts.  “Harder!” she ground out.  “Give it to
me!  Oh, god, don’t stop – don’t stop – don’t stop!”

“Take that cock,” Michael snarled at her, lips curled back
from those white teeth.  “Yeah – that’s it – oh, girl, you are so good…getting
so wet…yeah…” 

And Erin could hear it, the slick, sticky sound of his cock
sliding in and out of her.  She could feel her orgasm building, preparing to
break through, the drag of his cock along her clit and the deep throbbing of it
plunging into her.  She jerked sharply.  Her toes spread and she drew her knees
in toward her chest.  “Yeah,” she whined, twisting under Michael.  “Oh, yeah. 
Oh, yeah.  Yeah – oh –
god, yes, baby, oh!
”

Michael did not stop.  He captured one of her legs when
threatened to writhe away, jerked her back toward him, and kept thrusting into
her wildly until he let out a string of expletives.  Erin felt the rush of
heat, and felt it pushing out of her, trickling down over her buttocks, until
Michael finally slowed down and withdrew completely.  She moaned as soon as she
felt him leave her, instantly missing the stretch and fullness.  Dazed, she lay
there, head rolling against the table.  Her arm flopped over to one side, and
her hand landed right into the casserole dish of still-warm food. 

Just when she thought she could not handle any more
stimulation, Michael decided to put her to the test.  She felt his face between
her legs again, his tongue moving in lazy swirls around her clit and labia. 
“Oh, god, no more!” she begged, trying to clamp her thighs shut around his
head.  She felt the huff of his breath against her mons as he chuckled.  A
moment later, he began pulling at her, dragging her to sit up.  Erin sagged
against him, smiling.  “You,” she said, poking him in the chest, “are a nasty,
nasty man.”

He cupped her chin and tilted her face up.  “But you like
it,” he replied, voice low and thick.  Bending down, he kissed her, and she
could taste them both on his lips, the tang of their combined fluids.  She had
no problem kissing after a guy went down on her, and she liked that Michael
could do that even after spilling inside her.  “Mm,” she said, licking it up.

He helped her down from the table and she clung to him, her
legs still a bit unsteady.  They looked down at the mess they had made of the
dining room, and then at each other.  And then started to laugh.

“We need to clean up,” Erin said.  “This mess.”  She
motioned to the table, and then trailed her fingers over his torso.  “And this
one.”

“I think I’d like to start with this one,” Michael said,
capturing her hand and drawing it up to his lips. 

They found themselves upstairs in Erin’s bathroom.  Desire
saw a swift revival as their soapy bodies pressed together, Michael enfolding
Erin in his arms, kisses deep and slow.  Pulling back, he turned her around. 
Erin did not need verbal instruction.  She placed her hands against the wall
and leaned forward, feet apart.  Michael entered her from behind.  Leaning over
her, he reached under and cupped her breasts and kissed her shoulders while the
water streamed down over their skin.  He moved languidly, pushing into her,
holding there a moment before drawing out again.  He teased her clit and then
her asshole, until he had her sobbing, legs shaking as she came again and
again.

Michael left Erin in her bed before going back downstairs. 
She could hear him moving around, the clatter of dishes, and knew he had to be
cleaning up the dining room. She looked over at the clock on her nightstand. 
Mom wouldn’t be home for another two hours or more.  Erin felt sleepy, her body
heavy and sated from all the great sex.  Guilt had not set in…yet.

But it would.