But Timmy fills the void so completely that I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
This is what I wanted, right? Someone who sees me. Someone who loves me without hesitation. Someone who notices all the little things about me, the way I always wished someone would.
Maybe this is what real love feels like. Maybe the trade-off is worth it. Maybe a little isolation isn’t such a bad thing, if it means I get to keep feeling this way. As long as I stay on his good side, as long as I keep things light and fun, everything will be okay.
Because when Timmy’s happy, it’s like the whole world is brighter. And when he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, it’s easy to forget everything else.
And so I smile back. I laugh at his jokes, braid his hair, and tell him how cute he looks in his cap and braids.
And for now, that’s enough. It has to be.
30
OUT OF THE FRYING PAN
The next day, I take him for brunch at one of my favorite spots that I’ve visited before. It’s owned by a celebrity chef who has appeared on a reality TV show.
We share a gorgeous plate of jidori chicken, as well as their famed hash browns, and a couple of brunch cocktails.
Timmy banters with the server, an alternative-looking guy with piercings and tattoos. He’s friendly, and the conversation is funny. Then things get a little weird.
“I’m going to take this cast-iron frying pan when we leave,” Timmy announces, indicating the dish on the table in front of us.
“Okay, do what you gotta do, man,” says the server, his eyes widening as if Timmy just ordered a spaceship off the menu.
I think Timmy’s joking, but as we pay up, he puts the frying pan down on his chair beside him. And when we go to leave, he picks it up and walks out with it.
“Timmy, what are you doing?” I whisper loudly. “You can’t take that!”
“Shh,” he says. “You should be grateful. I got this for your apartment.”
“But it belongs to the restaurant!”
“They won’t miss it,” he rolls his eyes. “Besides, the server said we could keep it. He gave me permission to take it.”
I think back to my time working in restaurants. “That’s not really his decision to make, Timmy. And besides, I think he thought you were joking. I know I did.”
He sighs as if I’m the most annoying drag ever. “Just be grateful, Margaux. I got you a frying pan for your apartment, for god’s sake. Lighten up. You’re always so uptight.”
I shake off my apprehension as we drive to the beach, helped by it being a gorgeous day. The sky is turquoise, the ocean is teal, and the sand is a warm and toasty golden brown.
I watch as Timmy runs into the water and floats for a while.
The swimming time seems to lift his spirits again, and when he gets out of the water he’s super affectionate. I feel relieved, and I’m over the whole frying pan scenario. I just want to have a nice day with Timmy.
I feelmy cheeks blushing as I bend over in front of him, my heart pounding in anticipation. Timmy's voice is rough, commanding, and I can't help but comply as he growls at me to raise my ass high in the air and get down low on my forearms. I try to steady my breathing as I follow his instructions, my breasts hanging down, my pussy already slick with arousal and anticipation.
"Oh, look at you," he purrs, his voice low and dangerous. "You're all wet for me, aren't you?" he asks, his fingers trailing lightly up my inner thighs, sending shivers down my spine. "You must be thirsty for it, huh?"
I can't help but moan in response, my body betraying my need for him. His fingertips graze my swollen lips and I gasp, my hips bucking towards him involuntarily. "Such a naughty girl," he chuckles, his breath hot against my ear as he leans in close.
I feel his warm lips on my neck, trailing feather-light kisses down my spine, and I arch my back, my body begging for more. His tonguegrazes my shoulder blade, and I moan again, my pussy clenching in anticipation of what's to come.
Then, without warning, his tongue is on me, licking broad, wet strokes from my wettest parts all the way up to my back entrance. I gasp, my hips bucking against him involuntarily as he laps at my ass, his tongue painting delicious, dirty circles around the sensitive opening.
"Let me in, baby," he groans, his voice muffled by my ass. "I know how much you love it."
"Yes," I whimper, my voice barely above a whisper. "I love it, Timmy. I want it so bad."