Edging Obsession

11

W hen I approach the glass doors, I hear my dad saying to Miles, “We’re unsure what to do.” Once they see me, all discussion ceases, and they act as if I’m the topic of conversation. I step into the silent muck, eyes meeting my mom and dad’s until they glance at each other. Miles watches my timid walk, wearing a faint smile. My arms hug against my body. Their demeanor, reed straight backs, hands sewn to their sides, causes an unease to infiltrate me. I’m by the side of the couch where my dad is sitting.

My eyebrows crumple and my lip quivers. “What’s wrong?”

Mom pats the couch between them, so I shuffle over and sit down. She hums in my ear the song she sang to me when I was little. They scoot closer, both resting their arms on the back of the couch behind me.

Dad slides his hand over my arm. “Sweetheart, do you know how much we love you?” I nod, offering a weak smile. “We love you so much we’d do anything for you. You’re everything to us.”

Mom cuts in, “Dad’s right.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “The day you came into our lives, everything changed for the better. You’re our own little sunshine.”

My head swivels from one to the other. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” I press my arms into my stomach. From the corner of my eye, my mom searches my dad and vice versa. Miles sits across from me, his face not revealing anything. Finally, he stands, and without a word, heads into the house. My parents turn away as if guilt is eating at them.

I look straight out onto the lake as my dad says, “We don’t mean to scare you. No one’s dying. It’s…” He glances at my mom, pain wrinkles his eyes, forehead, and mouth. Then he hugs me. “Jules, when you were in the hospital. Well, you lost a lot of blood.”

The thought of what they went through still shreds at my insides. “Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, Jules, I’m not upset about it. I mean, of course we were upset you hurt yourself, but that’s not what this is about.”

Anguish paints his face; the same suffering when I’m depressed.

“Anyway, your mother and I went to give blood so they could replenish you. In doing so…” Tears bubble in his eyes and he looks to the side, wiping his face, before he continues, “We found out that we’re not your biological parents.”

Paralyzed by his words, it heightens my breathing, and tears prick at the back of my eyes.

Not my biological parents? How can that be?

His hand pats my hair, hauling me onto his lap, even though I’m no longer the little girl he rocked to sleep. Because my dad is average in height, and I’m on the taller side for a woman, my body droops over his legs.

“It turns out my AB blood and your mother’s A blood couldn’t produce your O negative.” He kisses my hair. My sobs muffle his words. “This doesn’t change anything for us, Jules. You are and always will be our daughter.”

My entire body shakes while my dad consoles me. They have been there for me. I wasn’t the easiest child, but it never stopped my mom and dad from loving and making me their priority. It took my dad having a heart attack two years ago for them to focus a bit on themselves. The family coffee shop was sold, along with acres of land my mom inherited from her parents. They started traveling, something I hope to afford one day. Right now, I have an empty passport.

Mom’s cries snap me out of my thoughts. I reach over and wrap my arm around her shoulder. “I love you, too. You’ve done so much for me. Sacrificed for my happiness.” My eyes meet each of theirs as I say, “I’m so sorry for being such a burden.”

This makes my mother cry harder as she says, “Don’t say that, Jules. You have never been a burden.”

I flick tears off my hand. “You got the raw end of a deal. First, a mentally unstable daughter, and now…you find out I’m not even yours.”

My parents bury me in hugs, and my dad’s stern voice says, “You are ours , Jules. Don’t even say such a thing.” We remain like this for a while.

My head rests on Mom’s shoulder, and Dad sits back, holding my hand. His voice cracks. “We’re family. Blood means nothing when it comes to love.” He takes my chin to shift my eyes toward him. “You will always be our little girl.”

We’re not blood related, but we’re all we know. Mom and Dad are forever my parents, so we let the matter drop for now. Dad wants to focus on Miles and my relationship. The bipolar diagnosis has freaked out my parents. I’ve gone through bouts of depression, but bipolar is another layer to my awkward life.

Mom holds me against her. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Horny.”

Dad’s mouth drops before saying, “Jules!”

“What?” I toss my arms in the air, and they fall heavily onto my lap. “I’m sorry. Mom asked, so I thought I’d be honest.”

With a cluck of her tongue, Mom says, “It’s fine, Jules. I want you to feel comfortable telling me anything. It’s your father who has an issue with…” She pretends to tell me a secret, except she’s loud enough for anyone outside to hear. “You and the word sex in the same sentence.”

We both laugh and turn to my dad, who is red in the face. He folds his arms. “Let’s not talk about it.” This makes us laugh harder.

Miles holds the door open for Anna, who starts bringing platters and bowls of food out to the dining table set on the other side of the deck. He asks my parents if they want another drink, and gets them something, handing me a glass of water with lemon. I didn’t ask for it, but he already knows what I like to drink.

My internal mood pendulum slowly swings to a higher happiness, expunging my depression. Miles and my parents love me, and this alone has awakened my endorphins. It also triggers my core, and I feel my underwear getting wet. I squeeze my thighs together to squash any physical sensations.

We settle at the table loaded with dishes. Anna points out the parmesan chicken breasts, grilled zucchini salad with cilantro and pistachio, garlic bread, and grilled broccoli. I watch my parents fill their plates, and then Miles dishes a little of everything onto mine and his. Mom and Dad fixate on his brashness in feeding me. Before meeting him, I would have been furious if someone chose my food, gave me things without asking, or pushed sexual experiences. Miles though…he relinquishes the everyday burdens of making decisions. I’ve wanted to be independent, but there’s something about giving it up freely for someone you care deeply for. He’s gorgeous, and his dominant ways are sexy as hell. Plus, submitting to him placates the mental illness I’ve suffered. It quiets the inferno that sometimes rises and drops to extremes.

Ignoring the company and food, I close my eyes to an influx of images of Miles and me in different sexual positions. It’s erotic. I’m lost to desire and want, gulping down this irresistible hunger I have for him, and under the table, use the pad of my hand to rub against my clit. No matter how inappropriate it is, my body is on fire, pussy drenched from these memories. My clit itches for more pressure. My eyes open to Mom and Dad who have stopped eating, shocked at my behavior. But I can’t stop. It’s a terrifying obsession to come, which is clouding my judgment. Spreading my legs, I grind into the chair. A spatter of breathing comes in gulps.

Miles touches my arm. His face is stern, with no expression other than his eyes boring into me.

I pull away from him. My hands grip the end of the table as I continue to grind, but trying to be subtle, which is impossible. The sensation is delicious, and I close my eyes to block out the stares. The momentum builds. My core sizzles and aches. Suddenly, my chair is yanked away, and Miles throws me over his shoulder. I see Mom and Dad’s wide eyes and mouths as my upper body bounces against Miles’ back, up the stairs, down the hall, and behind the bedroom door.

“You’re not doing shit like that while eating in front of your parents.”

Miles drops me on the bed, and I instinctively put pressure on my clit, circling it through my shorts. My pelvis reacts to the thrill.

He smacks my hand away. “You come when I say you can come.”

I ignore him and continue. Miles walks to the bedside table, and when he takes the handcuffs out, I jump off the bed toward the bathroom. I’m no match for his strength and quickness, and in no time, my wrists are cuffed to the bed posts.

My legs kick out. “I hate you! Let me go.” He turns me enough for him to smack my ass. “I’m going to scream. My parents will come, and we’ll leave.”

Miles grabs a sock from the drawer and stuffs it into my mouth while I shout into it, kicking my legs around. He smacks my pussy through my shorts. My ragged breathing increases. I don’t bother to contain the prickle of tears. They emerge, clogging my nose and making it difficult to breathe. I expand my eyes, pleading for him to remove the sock and handcuffs.

“Calm, Jules. Stop panicking. Take deep breaths and relax.” I focus on his thick baritone voice, coaxing me into a peaceful state. “The medication is part of your rehabilitation, but there are techniques you need to learn.” His hand slides along my thigh as he talks. “Focus on your breath and a place that makes you happy.” My breathing slows and the tears dissipate. “That’s my good girl.” Without taking his eyes off me, he removes the sock from my mouth and releases my wrists.

He slides me onto his lap as he strokes my hair, whispering, “How do you feel?”

I cuddle into his chest. “Better.”

“There are times when I can take care of your cravings, but you need to control them. I think you just gave your parents a heart attack.”

I rub my face into his chest and laugh. “I’m so embarrassed. How can I go down there now?”

Miles kisses the side of my head. “Everything will be fine. Your parents know about your diagnosis. Sure, it’ll be uncomfortable, but it will pass.”

Downstairs, Mom and Dad are eating in silence. They turn around when the door slides open. Their eyes watch me walk to my chair and sit.

I cover my face. “I’m sorry…”

My sweet mom says, “It’s okay, Jules. These things happen.”

We all look at each other and laugh at her response.

These things happen? Getting off in front of your parents happens?

She joins in, and the rest of lunch is fine. They ask if it’s okay to stop by when the therapist comes. Miles tells them they’re welcome anytime.

We say our goodbyes, and when they’re gone, Miles takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom. Without a word, he undresses us, lays me on the bed, and with a condom on, enters me. I gasp from being stretched, but his thumb swirls around my clit, stimulating every nerve in my body. Since I had been horny most of the afternoon, it doesn’t take long before I come, yet Miles has a way to go. He’s kneeling on the bed and lifts my hips onto his thighs, fingers digging into my hips, and fucks me like it’s his last day on earth. Slamming against my cervix over and over, fingers bruising my sides. I coat his dick with my juices, the slickness dripping between the crack of my ass. Miles’ relentless thrusts cause another release from me before he grunts and moans my name. Sex and Miles never get old.