Chapter 85 The Moment After
“Mom… this is Joan,” Dave said as he stepped forward.
Mrs. Wilton’s expression softened a little bit.
This time, my mind had already been processing different thoughts, and I just hoped that when I got sent out, it would feel less humiliating.
“Joan. It’s great to meet you finally,” she muttered, extending her perfectly manicured hand.
“Thank you for having me, ma’am,” I took her hand with my slightly damp palm.
“Come in. Sit,” she said, her smile practiced and polite.
She led us into the living room. Then I sat on the edge of the cushion with my knees pressed together. Dave sat beside me, his thigh brushing mine in silent reassurance.
Mrs. Wilton sat on the couch opposite us and crossed her legs at the ankle, studying me more openly this time.
“So…” she began smoothly.
“Jane told me you are an interior designer.”
“Yes,” I nodded, grateful for the easy question.
“I love creating environments that feel… personal,” I added.
“Admirable,” she nodded.
“So how did you two meet?”
“We met during the West Capita project. I was the interior designer for the project,” I explained.
“Jane speaks very highly of you,” she replied, letting out a small smile.
“Oh, wow. She’s wonderful,” I said, relaxing a bit.
But I didn’t fully let my guard down.
I didn’t know what the next question would be.
“And your family, Joan? What do they do?” she asked, tilting her head.
That was it!
The question landed on me like a big blow.
I rubbed my palm slowly on my thigh as I swallowed.
“Calm down, Joan,” I told myself.
Then I sat up straight.
“My mother was a nurse. She passed when I was sixteen. My father… left when I was little. It’s mostly been me and my younger brother, Theo.”
Everywhere went silent for a while.
Mrs. Wilton’s expression didn’t change, but I noticed something shift behind her eyes.
Possibly disappointment.
“I see… that must have been difficult,” she said softly.
“It was. But it made me who I am,” I answered honestly.
Dave reached for my hand on my thigh and squeezed it firmly, reminding me of his presence.
Mrs. Wilton’s gaze shifted to our joined hands and for a moment, no one said anything.
Then she let out a small, polite smile.
“Well,” she muttered, standing gracefully.
“Dinner should be ready. Shall we?”
I stood too, my legs unbalanced.
Dave did the same and leaned closer to me as we followed her toward the dining room.
“You are doing great,” he whispered.
But I wasn’t so sure.
Because in that one question about my parents, I had heard the real one underneath.
“Are you one of us?”
And the answer was painfully clear.
I wasn’t.
Not even close.
Dinner went well and silently.
Soon, we were done eating.
Mrs. Wilton didn’t ask me any further questions.
I thought his father was going to join us, but he didn’t.
When we got into the car, Dave held my hand, entwined his fingers with mine and smiled.
“Rest assured my mom loves you,” he said with a bright smile on his face.
“I hope so,” I muttered.
That day stayed with me longer than I expected, not because anything terrible happened, but because nothing did.
Mrs. Wilton didn’t chase me out nor did she tell me I was accepted.
And somehow that felt worse, even though Lena told me not to overthink it.
Weeks passed.
And slowly, life with Dave began to feel easier.
We had fallen into a rhythm that felt both new and strangely familiar. Public outings became our thing. Not flashy red-carpet events, but real ones like brunch at hidden cafés, evening walks, and spontaneous trips to the art gallery where he held my hand while we argued over which painting looked great.
Tonight was one of those nights.
We were at a small jazz club downtown.
I wasn’t even a club person, but I had to be there because he insisted.
He had reserved a corner booth with a saxophonist playing something slow and soulful.
Dave’s arm rested along the back of my seat, his fingers lightly brushing my shoulder.
“Do you like it here or do you want us to move to another section?” he asked, his voice soothingly soft that it ignited a spark within me.
“I like it here,” I replied, sipping my wine slowly and letting the warmth seep into my system.
Soon, the band took a break.
“I like this version of us,” he leaned closer and whispered.
“Me too,” I whispered back.
His fingers traced lazy circles on my bare shoulders as he smiled sheepishly.
The touch was innocent, but it sent a jolt underneath me.
I turned my head and caught his soft lips in a kiss, right there in the club, where anyone could see us.
He kissed me back slowly, like we had all the time in the world.
When we pulled apart, his eyes were already squinted.
“You keep doing that, and you are going to make me forget we are in public,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe that’s the plan,” I laughed softly, reaching for my wine glass again.
The night went on like that with music, stolen kisses and his hand never far from mine.
Later, as we walked into the car, Dave pulled me into a quiet alley between two buildings. He lifted me and placed my back against the brick wall gently, his hands cupping my face.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he murmured.
“Then do it,” I whispered, already feeling the heat.
He kissed me as he meant it… deep, hungry, one hand sliding into my hair while the other rested on my waist.
I curled into him, my fingers gripping his shirt.
And at that moment, the world around us went silent.
When we finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“I can’t wait to devour you,” he whispered into my ear through his ragged breath.
“Me too,” I replied silently, as I bit my lower lip.
He drove me straight to his house, one of his hands never leaving my thigh the whole way.
He parked carefully, moved over to the passenger’s seat, opened the door, and carried me in his arms.
“Shall we?” he murmured against my ear.
“Maybe.”
His eyes darkened instantly.
I didn’t even know how we got to the bedroom.
He started by placing my back on the bed and kissing me slowly.
Then the kiss started getting intense.
I rolled over, letting his back hit the bed, surprising both of us.
That night, I wanted to be in control.
“Tonight. I want to play,” I whispered, climbing over him and straddling his hips.
“Role-play?” Dave’s breath hitched.
I nodded, already unbuttoning his shirt.
“I like this version of you,” he grinned, his fingers sliding up my thigh.
I took my time, teasing every open skin. When he tried to touch me, I pinned his wrist above his head.
“Not yet,” I whispered.
I kissed down his chest, taking my time and enjoying the way his muscles tensed under my mouth.
Then I moved to unfastening his trousers.
When I finally took his cock in my hand, he groaned. I stroked him slowly, watching his face.
“Fuck!” he breathed.
I moved lower, taking the already hard cock in my mouth.
His hips jerked and his fingers tangled into my hair.
I sucked him slowly, then faster, and slowly again, until he was trembling beneath me.
When I finally climbed back up and sank onto him, we both moaned.
I rode him hard, placing my hands on his chest and taking in everything I wanted.
He allowed me to do whatever I wanted, his eyes locked on mine as he whispered how beautiful I was and how perfect I felt.
The orgasm hit hard, slow, and almost overwhelming.
I cried out, my body shaking and my nails digging into his skin.
Dave followed seconds later, groaning my name as he came.
“Geez! That was incredible,” he whispered as we lay tangled together, our breath overlapping.
He kissed my forehead and I smiled against his chest.
“It was.”
Just as I lay on his chest, Alex's face flashed across my mind.
I felt really guilty.
Why did my mind drift to Alex’s grip even when Dave was perfect?
That I didn’t know.
The next morning, I woke up tangled in his sheets, his arm lying on my waist.
He was still asleep, breathing slowly and evenly. I watched him for a moment, admiring the peaceful lines of his face, and the way his hair fell across his forehead.
He was so good to me.
He was safe, so why did I still feel like something was missing?
I slipped out of bed quietly, wrapped myself in a clean robe, and moved towards the window.
Just then, my phone buzzed on the bedside table.
I reached for it and checked it.
Alex’s name stared back at me on my screen.
“I miss you, Joan…”
My stomach dropped as I stared at the screen.
No… no… not again.