Page 61 of I Love to Hate You
I smirk at the fire still burning in her. It clearly has died down in the face of her dynamic with her father, but it’s there.
Jack exhales loudly, blowing beer breath all over us. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing someone was there. Otherwise, this dress might’ve been the death of you. That would've been a tragedy, wouldn't it?”
Jack flippantly spins around and walks back into the house, leaving the door open behind him as if he doesn't care if we come in or walk away. I watch him saunter over to a dingy recliner in the center of the messy living room and plop down into it before I turn to Maya and find the disenchanted expression on her face. I squeeze her hand, hoping she understands it to mean that I’m here with her and I have her back, and she presses her lips into a thin line before stepping over the threshold, pulling me in with her.
Maya’s home isn’t really hers. I don't have to be a fly on the wall here to know that everything in this living room was set up by either Jack or Maya’s mother, who is no longer here to make sure the house she decorated is well taken care of. The coffee table is littered with mostly-empty beer bottles, while the rest of the room is just … stuff. There’s a couch covered in clothes, a chair tucked into a corner like it’s in timeout, and a dusty cabinet with framed glass doors housing knick knacks and pictures of the family. All life has been sucked out of this room, and it’s clear that Jack doesn't live here either. He simply exists here, his spirit having died with his wife.
While a part of me does feel sad for Jack, my feelings for his daughter make my empathy foggy. It’s hard to feel bad for a man who intentionally acts as an anchor to the feet of his own daughter because he’s unable to move on. Instead of digging a knife into Maya every chance he gets, he should seek therapy and learn how to talk through his problems with a professional. However, he’s a man, and most men would rather have their pride than a happy family.
Maya leads me to the entrance of the only hallway in the home and we pause there, looking back at Jack, who has glued his eyes to the TV screen instead of being a gracious host to his daughter and the man who risked his life to save her.
“So, are you good, Dad?” Maya asks.
I scoff, because he should be asking her that question.
Without taking his eyes off the TV for a millisecond, Jack answers, “I’m fine.”
Maya sighs. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Wonderful,” Jack says.
It takes everything in me not to snap when he picks up the remote from the arm of his chair and starts flipping through his options on Netflix, as if he couldn't care less if Maya is alive or dead.
Maya, on the other hand, blows it off easily from experienced practice, and turns around to guide me to a door at the end of the hall. We descend dark stairs until we reach the bottom, where Maya flips a switch to bring the lights on, illuminating a cozy but dim space in the basement. Her bed is pushed into the far corner, with a small entertainment center topped with a decent-sized TV, and a large chest of drawers in the far corner. Everything down here is neat and in order, unlike the pigsty upstairs, and while it’s cast in shadows, I can tell that this is the only part of the house that Maya calls home.
She walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge, her eyes fixed on me with a look of graciousness on her face. I hate to leave her here with the man upstairs, but we’ve come as far as we can today.
“Thank you,” she says, grinning to hide the pain I know she’s feeling—a pain that is always caused by the same person every time.
“You’re thanking me?” I joke. “You didn't even want me to walk you to the door.”
Maya rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up. I wanted you to walk me to the door, I was just worried abouthim.”
“Understandable,” I reply. “But I’m glad I got to meet him. More importantly, I’m glad he got to meet me and hear that I was the one who came to your aid last night.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Because now he knows that I’m your protector,” I reply. “I’m the one who looks out for you while he’s here doing … whatever he does. He knows you're mine now.”
“I’m yours?” she shoots back with raised brows. “I didn't know we were gettingthatdeep.”
Now my eyebrows are raised. “Oh?” I take a step forward and kneel in front of Maya, who eyes me carefully. “Are you not mine?”
She smiles as I place a hand on her shoulder and gently push her back until she’s lying down with her legs dangling off the bed in front of me. Slowly, I begin to push her dress up until it reaches her waist, exposing her panties once again and giving me access to that beautiful pussy of hers.
“Kendrick,” she says, moaning as I rub the tip of my finger over her clit through the fabric. “I desperately need a shower, and my dad is upstairs probably wondering why you haven't left yet.”
The thought of him sitting up there thinking about what I’m doing only adds fuel to the fire that has just sparked in my belly.
“I don't give a fuck about any of that,” I say, moving Maya’s panties to the side. “Dirty or clean, you're mine and I crave you, and if he’s up there waiting for me to emerge at the top of the stairs … good. Let him wait.”
With one hand holding her panties to the side, and the other pulling up the hood to her clit, I plunge my tongue into Maya’s pussy, pushing it in and out before slithering it over her clit and keeping it there. I use my lips to suck while my tongue presses on her sensitive nub, wiggling and pulling moans from her. She presses a hand over her mouth so the noise doesn't travel up the stairs, and I do my best to make sure it does.
I eat Maya’s pussy like it’s the last pleasurable thing I’ll ever be allowed to do, using every method I’ve heard of—circles, the alphabet, more pressure, less pressure, sucking, all while making sure my mouth never leaves her pussy.
“Are you mine, Maya?” I ask, before sliding two fingers inside of her and curling them upward in the hunt for her G-spot. I find the sensitive area and begin massaging it as I clamp my mouth back down and focus on her clit again.
“I’m … I’m yours,” Maya says through her fingers, but I’m not satisfied.
