Page 91 of Lassoed Love

“Fuuuck,fuck,” he groans, his voice strained. “I’m coming, Isla, baby,” and I whimper, taking him to the back of my throat as he shoots his load down my throat—his salty taste warm in my mouth.

Xavier’s movements falter and his grip on my hair loosens, but I continue my relentless suction—wanting to taste every last drop of his come in my mouth.

“Hmmm,” he hums, and once I’m sure I’ve sucked him dry, I slowly release his cock from my mouth, wiping my mouth of any saliva that dribbled down. He grabs me by my shoulder and pulls me up towards him abruptly, burying his hands at my nape, and slams his mouth to mine, tasting the remnants of himself on my tongue. He moans into the kiss, and I melt into his body, holding on.

Xavier breaks the kiss, looking down at me attentively. His eyes are hooded with lust as he rests his forehead on mine, whispering, “That was… fucking amazing. You amaze me every time, Isla.”

He raises his head, his hand caressing my cheek before cupping my jaw. “You’re something else, Isla Thompson,” he murmurs, and I lean into his touch, smiling. In the silence of the barn, animals shuffling quietly in the background, he declares, “Mine,” with a growl.

Xavier leans down, kissing me one more time before we head back out into the night to join the others.

36

In The Stars - Benson Boones

As I visit my father early in the morning, Molly has returned to help out at the clinic, giving me a bit of time before I need to be at work. Stepping into the familiar surroundings of my childhood home, a sense of both nostalgia and apprehension washes over me.

Dad is having an off day again, his demeanour mirroring the stormy clouds outside. Despite our recent interactions, which have been somewhat better compared to the past, there’s a heaviness in the air as I approach him. The tension is palpable, a reminder of the delicate balance we’ve been trying to strike in rebuilding our relationship.

This morning is another one of those days where Dad seems to lose his grip on reality. It starts with him misplacing the TV remote, a seemingly trivial incident that spirals into an anger meltdown. I have to remain calm, my patience tested as we search the house for the elusive remote. It turns out to be in one of the kitchen cupboards, and Dad curses loudly, throwing out every expletive under the sun in frustration. Honestly, I have no idea how it ended up there, but I have to keep my composure.

As we sit in the living room, he seems to have calmed down after the remote incident, and we carry on with the morning routine. However, a shift occurs when he slips back into an old memory, speaking of my mother as if she were still alive. In his confused state, he asks about my exams, and I stand there, trying to decipher which exams he means. I play along, saying, “Good, Dad. Stressful, but good.”

“Well, gotta study hard if you wanna go to that big school, whaddya call it again?” he mutters, and I softly reply, “Uni.” My heart aches at how surreal the conversation sounds.

He then starts talking about my mother, mentioning how she is out again, probably getting groceries. The lines between past and present blur, and I find myself navigating the delicate balance between comforting him in his confusion and grappling with the reality that she is no longer here. The weight of these moments hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the fragility of Dad’s memories and the complexity of our relationship.

As Dad continues to speak, the emptiness in my chest deepens, and I can’t help but long for a time when he was the sturdy anchor of our family. The weight of his reality, slipping away like grains of sand, settles heavily on my shoulders. I want him to get better, to break free from the chains of this merciless disease, but deep down, I know there's no going back.

Worry for him is a constant companion, a shadow that looms over my every interaction with him. I hope for good days, always, but I’ve witnessed the ravages of this disease before, seen how it consumed mynanna and pop. In the end, their bodies couldn’t cope, their brains couldn’t function, and they left with a sense of peace. They were no longer suffering.

As these thoughts swirl in my mind, tears well up in my eyes. I shake my head, swallowing down the lump in my throat, refusing to let the tears spill over. Standing from the kitchen table, I muster a shaky smile and ask him if I can go out and pick some wildflowers and daisies.

His eyes light up, and he nods enthusiastically. “‘Course… yes. Ya know, they’re your mumma’s favourites.”

I nod, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. “Yeah, I’m going to pick a few to take to her in town. I think she’ll like the surprise.”

Dad’s response is a mixture of joy and longing. “Oh, yes, she’d love that. Tell ‘er she needs to hurry up and come home. I’m waiting on ‘er apple pie.”

Tears threaten to spill again as I choke on my words. “I-I’ll do my best, Dad,” I say, my voice breaking slightly. I head out to pick the flowers, a bittersweet task that brings a mix of comfort and sorrow.

When I drive away, leaving my father standing on the front porch, waving with a smile, the ache in my heart deepens.

I pull up outside Wattle Creek cemetery, a familiar ache burning through my chest. Sitting in the car, I take a few deep breaths. While driving, my phone buzzed a few times, and a quick glance revealed two unopened messages from Xavier. My heart warms at the sight. He’s been texting me a lot lately, something I’ve grown accustomedto but still find surreal. There are moments when I pinch myself, unable to believe that I’m actually here, with Xavier, and as he’s declared before, he belongs to me. The fact that we’ve been intimate still hasn’t quite sunk in.

It’s been a while since I’ve come here. After Mum passed away, I used to visit every weekend, never missing a Sunday. Dad would occasionally join me, but that didn’t last, especially not with me. He struggled with Mum’s death, turning to alcohol and aggression. I couldn’t bear to be near that anymore, so I applied to university. After being accepted, I packed up and left small-town life behind. Now that I’m back, it feels like the missing pieces I’ve lived with my whole life are finally starting to come together, with Xavier at the centre of it all.

I’ve visited Mum a few times since my return, but I regret to admit that I’ve neglected to come more often. Guilt eats away at my heart as I turn off the car, taking a few deep breaths before stepping out. Walking up to Mum’s plot, a wave of nausea and deep sorrow washes over me. The cemetery feels heavy with memories, each step echoing the ache in my chest.

Approaching Mum’s grave, tears well up in my eyes. Surprisingly, my anxiety hasn’t been as overwhelming since moving back home, especially compared to the city and the dark days with Justin. Panic attacks were a daily norm then. He scolded me for taking anti-anxiety medication, claiming it would make me worse, insisting I just needed to get over it. I can’t help but think,I fucking hate him.

Swallowing down the bubble forming in my throat and resistingthe nausea threatening to resurface, I take a few deep breaths, blinking away the tears. Focusing on the task at hand, I fit wildflowers and daisies into each vase beside Mum’s grave. Kissing the top of the tombstone, I whisper, “Hey, Mumma,” before taking a seat in front.

Crossing my legs, I take in the surroundings, surrounded by thousands of graves, each holding the memories of loved ones no longer here. I apologise first, my hand resting on the tombstone, tears welling up again.

“I'm sorry for not coming around more often,” I murmur, my voice choked with emotion.

Nervousness creeps up as I speak to Mum, recounting how things are going at the clinic. I share stories about the little furry animals I’ve looked after, imagining her delight at seeing them. Tears roll down my face as I speak, a mixture of sorrow and longing woven into each word.

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