This is a much, much lighter (and shorter) piece. I almost didn’t want to post it because it seemed plain, fluffy even by comparison to Invisible Lines. But there are all kinds of stories, after all. So here we are. Maybe think of it as a palate cleanser. –M
Night, with Rose
Maria had missed Christmas.
Coming from a large family, now almost all gone, or spread far and wide, she missed having the family close with an ache her husband could empathize with, but never fully understand. This year’s full house; both their children and a guest, Jorge’s college roommate. It wasn’t the stuffed-to-the-gills feel of her parents’ old place, but it was beautiful.
The sigh of feet on stairs woke her. When you knew every sound your house makes, new sounds, out of place sounds draw your attention, and Maria’s house had held no one but Armando and her for over a year now – ever since Jorge left for school. She listened. Rosalia. Her fidgety Rose. Restless and up for a drink. Maria never let on – or tried not to, but she worried about her Rose, so fiercely independent, headstrong, and still alone.
But not alone this time. Another set of feet on the stairs. Not Jorge’s heavy clump. Someone light-footed, careful. Maria’s brow knotted. Their guest? Now what was this? He seemed a nice boy, Cillian. Both younger and older than Jorge, she thought. He had a look about him Maria couldn’t place at first, but then saw how his eyes followed everyone – and realized Cillian watched people like her husband did. In fact, he watched Rose like Armando watched her, sometimes. That was… not exactly concerning – Rosalia was more than grown and able to take care of herself. But-
The water ran in the kitchen sink. ‘I should have left some glasses out,’ Maria realized, with a frown. She’d made it harder for Rose to be a good host to their guest. But there was no furtive greeting – or surprised squeak. He hadn’t introduced himself.
So, Cillian, you are a sneak. Are you about to cause trouble in my house?
Maria wondered, and stirred, disentangling herself gently from Armando’s warm arm. Being youngest of six she knew how to move quietly in an old house. At the bottom of the stairs, she heard quiet voices.
“Sorry for kicking you.”
Maria smiled. She’d missed something there. But Rose was not angry, or didn’t sound that way.
“I practice martial arts, I’m fine.”
His whisper was louder – Maria guessed he was an only child – never having the need to learn the art of keeping his voice down. Maybe she was projecting, because that was also like Armando. Maria stepped lightly to the the living room entry, a shadow in the shadows. She told herself it was maternal concern, but really, she felt a lot like she had as a little girl, sneaking to spy on one of her older sisters, or parents, after her bedtime. That had sometimes been quite the thill.
Maria smiled to herself, but then froze as she saw the silhouette of two people, rather close.
“What were you doing crouched by the doorway like that?”
“I came down for a drink, like you.”
Oh, you did not, young man, Maria thought, and wondered what Rosalia was going to make of this brashness. She was certainly not acting as sullen as she had last night.
“Liar. You’re disgusting,” but Rosie’s voice lied, too. She was more embarrassed than angry.
“I’m telling the truth. When I saw how you were dressed… I didn’t want to intrude. Don’t be angry.”
Maria peered in the darkness as the two moved. Was Rose trying to leave?. Her ears were sharp as ever, but now she cursed having left her glasses at the bed table. ‘Age is not good for spying,’ she sighed to herself.
“I can’t help it. I didn’t want to meet you like this… don’t tell your brother.”
Ahh, the heart – or something a little lower will be heard.
“How did you want to meet me? Well?”
Maria watched them, they were close, like a couple dancing, which in a way they were, whether they knew it or not. She’d seen it before – and danced it – herself.
“I, uh, I saw your photograph on your brother’s laptop and I thought you were pretty-”
“No, of course not – I mean, are…you are pretty. Hot.”
It hadn’t been easy to see Rosalia as her own young woman. But she’d had insisted upon it, forced it time and again as she forged her way up through school, bringing home boyfriends to challenge her parents’ sensibilities and sanity. Now, though, next to this youth, Maria saw her clearly all grown, all woman. Now she didn’t see her little Rosalita; she saw herself through a looking glass of years.
“How long have you been here?”
“I saw you drinking from the sink. Not a fan of glasses, are you?”
“Why use one? I’ve got two perfectly good hands.”
She brought her hands to his face and then dropped them lower
“I saw you wipe the floor from the spill, … and when you got up.”
Oh, Rose, you seem to have cast a spell.
“You…your…I saw you. Your breasts. I’m sorry.”
Maria smiled again. No, you’re no sorry at all.
“You’re not sorry,” Maria could hear the smile in her daughter’s voice. Then: “How are you at keeping secrets?”
Their movements said it was time for a mother to either step in, or stop watching, and Maria still couldn’t help but still feel torn. At that moment, a strong hand snaked around her waist, and Armando’s voice growled in her ear.
Maria didn’t jump. Half of her had known her husband was moving up behind her, without being fully aware. Armando’s breathy whisper slithered right down her spine. It always did. Not that Maria hadn’t already been a little piqued by the scene at the kitchen door. She slapped his forearm lightly as he pulled her back against his solid body.
He planted a hot kiss on her neck, and she turned to put her lips next to his ear
“I was just about to leave and find you”, she whispered back, weaving her fingers through his short, sleep-spiked hair, “I don’t think a chaperone is called for now.”
He exhaled into her neck, nodding.
“My Rosalita hasn’t been little for a long time. But I don’t need to see that.”
Maria’s heart went out to Armando. Some of the men Rose had brought home had seemed hand-picked to drive her father up the wall. But this one… Armando had been a little younger, in fact, and near the same relative age when he’d nearly run Maria over with his bicycle. That similarity – familiarity might be comforting, but for a father, who was once a boy, perhaps not.
“Come,” Maria said, sliding a hand down her husband’s side. The hardness of his cock pressed into her back through boxers and gown. She gripped the bump and steered her husband toward the stairs, catching the silhouette of Cillian’s head sinking down to her daughter’s belly. She knew exactly where she wanted Armando’s head – and the rest of him.
Her husband followed, almost as silently as her, back up the stairs and to their room.
The ‘kids’ were quiet, but not as quiet as they hoped. As Armando slipped her nightgown over her shoulders, Maria heard them moving back into the kitchen, and the little sigh of the sink counter as it bore weight. She knew that kitchen counter well.
“They’ll wake the house up,” Armando grumped. His hands found the perfect, familiar places that made her shiver and arch for him.
Maria stifled a laugh – and a moan. There was only one left asleep, and a plane crash in the living room wouldn’t wake a slumbering Jorge. Armando’s fingers slid deeply, easily into her as they kissed.
“He’s not unlike you were, Armandillo, those years ago.” She teased in his ear.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he growled back, a whispering wolf, “From the moment I met you, all I could think of was fucking you.”
As if to escape thinking about it, he slid his mouth and tongue down her body, to begin devouring her cunt with fervor and ferocity that would make Maria scream if she let it go too long.
She knew he was right. His dogged pursuit of a girl three years his elder had been flattering, and exciting, and no end of headache for her own father. When she finally let him seduce her, they barely came up for air for weeks. He learned quickly there was more to her than the curves that made his cock hard, and she learned that this boy was not only a lust addled puppy.
Maria heard Rosalia’s quiet laugh, cut off, as Armando’s tongue dug deep in her folds and then over her clit, and she pulled hard at his hair. Maybe she wasn’t going to need to worry about her Rose much longer.
Then, thoughts about anything went away for a long while.
*chuckle* Lovely, Raz. Just lovely! Love the change of scene, and i think i actually prefer this to the other. I love Maria to bits, and Armando? to borrow a phrase: murrrr….
Thank you very much, Squeaky! I’m glad you liked it. Just as there’s all kinds of writing, there’s all kinds of reading. It pays me to remember that.
lovely story, call it a dessert after Lines, but still bearing your inimitable touch.
Lighter yes, but not fluffy. I wasn’t sure which couple we would get to follow.
oh, but I loved this. there are all kinds of stories, and this was a true delight. light, yet with sweet substance – you threw a ton of history in so few words. deeply impressed, impossibly moved,
I enjoyed this very much. I’m reading it months after you finished Invisible Lines, so I won’t bother to compare the two. “Light” and short was just right for an afternoon snack. This one took me back to my youth. I definitely “had” a thing for bad boys. Thank you for the wonderful tale and the trip down memory lane.
I loved this story. I’ve just found you and your stories again after a few years, so I can’t compare it to anything else you’ve written recently, but this was a near-perfect way for me to indulge myself after a long day at work.
I think I’ll go and read some of your other recent stories now.
Love all your works.