Using Protection

No, she decided with some regret. Though Hilda could make even the straightest woman more than a little bi-curious.

She gestured at the tins in front of her. "I was looking at the teas."

"Need more Sereni-Tea?" the busty redhead asked. She ran a finger down Nicole's arm. "You look better than you did the last time you were here."

She shook her head. "No, I still have some of that left. But it worked great." Indeed, the Sereni-Tea, she felt, had been all that had kept her from collapsing into a weeping, huddled mess over the past few weeks. The calming effect had allowed her to keep from panicking until she had finally summoned the courage to tell Pat her troubles and to allow him to help her.

"Well, how about this?" Hilda asked, grinning wickedly, holding up another tin.

"Carnali-Tea? Really?"

"Really," she replied with a lazy smile.

"Does it work?"

"How should I know? I don't need it. But we seem to have a lot of repeat customers," Hilda grinned. "Usually older women, whose husbands are too embarrassed to use the little blue pill."

"Well, that isn't my problem," Nicole said tartly. "My problem is getting men to go away when they aren't wanted. Why the hell can't some men take no for an answer?" she raged suddenly, her fury at the last few weeks breaking free at last, "And why can't they realize that I'm not a fucking object, but a real fucking person!"

She stopped, stricken at her violent outburst. Hilda looked back, eyes wide. She stepped forward to embrace her friend, for once not a seductress, but a comforting presence. She led her to a couch in the back, where Nicole told her all her troubles of the past few weeks. When she got to Pat's solution, she smiled, her teeth gleaming fiercely.

"It seems your stepson has already taken care of your problem," she said softly, her fingers still trailing lazily over her arm. "Tell me, is he seeing anyone?"

Nicole was surprised at the surge of protective jealousy she felt, and it was all she could do to keep from snapping at Hilda. Swallowing her anger, she gave a short laugh. "Not right now," she said. "He's still trying to get his head around his job at the firm." She glanced at her watch. "And I've got to get back to work." She weighed the tin of tea in her hand, then set it back on the shelf.

No one at my house has a problem with their libido, she thought waspishly as she walked out.

Hilda Chamberlain gazed after her, her eyes amused. Ordinarily, she would not have dared to think about drawing a charm on her friend, but when the Goddess spoke to her so clearly, who was she to deny the orders of her deity?

Nicole, she thought, was going to have a very interesting time in the next few days.

****

Pat walked into the house later that evening to find a confused little boy in his path.

"Why are you here?" Danny asked with a child's bluntness.

Luckily, Pat had prepared for the question. "Your mommy and I thought it would be fun if I came to visit for a few days," he said. "It'll be like it was when I still lived here."

Danny frowned, his small face wrinkling. He had accepted Pat's presence with sleepy disinterest that morning, but now he was wide awake and suspicious.

"You're not going to sleep in my room, are you?" he finally asked.

Pat grinned. "No way. That racecar bed is too small for me."

*****

Supper had been eaten, and Pat and Nicole were washing the dishes together in silent harmony while Danny watched a movie on the DVD player. From the rec room downstairs, they could hear him laughing.

It was strange, she thought, how easily they had fallen back into their old roles. In those terrible weeks while Greg had slowly succumbed to the horror that devoured first his lungs, then his brain, she and Pat had worked together to make Danny's home life as normal as they could. Only four years old at the time, Danny had been sent to pre-school every morning. Depending on whether Greg had a chemo session scheduled or if he felt strong enough to go to work, either Pat or Nicole had driven him to the hospital or to the office.

But the chemo didn't work. Nothing worked, and she dripped silent tears down her cheeks as she remembered how Greg had gone into the hospital, and then, accepting the inevitable, had come back home to die in his own bed.

Sixteen months ago...

They had gone out to eat at Greg's favorite restaurant, a Japanese fusion place where Danny had watched wide-eyed as the chef cooked steak and shrimp on the hibachi, and the rest of the family could gorge themselves on sushi. Greg had eaten more than he had recently, but still very little, and she tried to keep a calm face as she helped him sit down on the sofa.

She could tell from Patrick's tense posture he knew there was something wrong. In the weeks since he had graduated from college, he had, she knew, tried to draw Greg out about why he looked so thin and tired, only to be brushed off.

"Sit down, Pat," Greg said, no longer trying to conceal how exhausted and sick he felt.

He took a deep breath and she felt his hand close hard around hers. "There's no easy way to say this, Pat. I'm dying."

"What? How?"

"Cancer," he said. "I started to have symptoms about eight months ago. Shooting pains in my back." He sighed, looking eighty years old, rather than fifty-five. "By the time I went to the doctor, it was too late. I'm terminal."

"How long?" he asked softly.

Greg closed his eyes, swallowing his pain. "Three months," he whispered. "Six at the outside, if the chemo works."

"What can I do?" Pat asked, his voice firm and steady, though his eyes were full of grief.

In reality, it had taken Greg, her husband, her lover, and her best friend, only eighty-seven days to die. He had passed away on a Tuesday, less than a year ago, and they had buried him as the red and golden leaves of autumn fell in a gentle breeze.

She passed Pat the last plate, and shivered as his hand brushed hers. The entire evening she had been abnormally conscious of his physical presence, and now she crossed her arms over her stomach, trying to rein in her reaction to his clean male scent. Her lips and breasts felt warm and swollen, and the flutter in her belly reminded her once again that it had been a very long time since she had been with a man.

Get hold of yourself, silly woman, she thought, trying to drag her eyes away from the clean lines of his back and shoulders, the silky black hair at the nape of his neck, where she wanted to plant her lips. He's not for you.

Her traitorous memory threw up a picture, and she stifled a silent moan, remembering.

Fourteen months ago...

It had been an unending day, and Nicole stumbled up the stairs, her eyes red-rimmed and bleary.

Even the painkillers didn't help anymore, and it had taken hours for Greg to fall asleep on the bed they had set up for him downstairs. The doctors, she knew, were pressuring him to come in to the hospital, but Greg resisted, terrified that once he went in, he would never come out.

God, give me one decent night of rest, she begged, trying to muffle her footsteps as she passed Pat's room. It was nearly midnight, and she was sure he would be asleep.

Instead, a soft glow lit the hallway, and she paused, glancing inside.

And stopped, her feet rooted to the floor.

Lying on the bed, his eyes closed, her stepson silently masturbated in the dim light of the bedside lamp. His thick cock jutted upwards from a nest of coarse black curls at his groin, the head gleaming wetly as moisture seeped from his slit. First pumping with his fist, then running his fingers lightly up its hard length, he sighed as he pleasured himself.

Her reaction was immediate and uncontrollable. Before she could help herself, her hand had jammed itself below the waistband of her shorts, her fingers parting her cleft. The other rose up to knead her heaving breast.

Eyes closed, she wept hot tears of shame, unable to control her lust. She had been crawling through the shadow of death for so long, she thought. And he resembled her lover so much. Would it be wrong to cling to this tiny sliver of life? One foot shuffled forward and her hand gripped the doorframe.

So easy. It would be so easy to walk into the room and claim him for her own. To drown their pain in desire. He was over eighteen, a full adult. What could be more right, than to rescue one piece of joy from this day?

She took another tiny step forward.

A harsh grunt broke the spell. Her eyes opened wide as Pat's other hand, holding a wad of tissue, came up to cap the head of his penis, catching his seed as he climaxed. His clutching fist coaxed the last spurts of come from his phallus, then moved it to be cleaned by his free hand.

Soundlessly, she backed away from the doorway, knees trembling in fear that she would be discovered. Rather than continue on to her bedroom, she turned to the bathroom, where the showerhead could grant her a measure of relief.

****

"So," she said, casting about wildly for a subject to distract her from the disturbing memory, "been out on the golf course lately?"

"Once or twice," he said. "Some of us from the firm got roped into a corporate outing out at Willow Creek a few weeks ago. Didn't really play all that well. I was hooking everything left."

She smiled. "You can talk to a slice, but a hook won't listen," she quoted. "Why don't you get a club out of your dad's bag in the garage and I'll take a look?" Nicole had been on the golf team in high school and had taught Pat most of what he knew about the game, even though he was an indifferent student at best. Still, it helped to be able to network with other corporate bigwigs out on the course.

When he came back into the living room with a five-wood, Nicole had set a golf ball on the carpet.

"All right, take a stance like you're in the tee box," she said.

Feeling awkward, he held the club in his hands and bent over the ball. Behind him, he heard her hiss in frustration.

"Good God, Pat. If I had a dollar for everything you're doing wrong here I'd have...well, three dollars. At least. I thought I taught you better than that." Her hands reached around him, pulling his arms closer to his chest so her fingers could adjust his grip. "You've got a hook grip, for one thing. Move your thumbs...there, that's it," she said softly, as his fingers found the correct position.

Pat swallowed and tried to hide the trembling in his legs. The feel of Nicole's warm arms on his was amazingly arousing. Despite himself, he could feel his cock growing as her soft breasts pressed against his back. Trapped by his loose shorts, it ran down his thigh, a hard heat pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

"And here," she said, now moving to his side, her hand in the small of his back. "You're too far away from the ball. Move a little closer. Now raise your hands. Good.

"And here, too," her hands were on his left leg as she knelt in front of him. "Your stance is too open. When you swing, your hips clear early and the club-face closes too fast. Move your foot...there." She looked up at him, then paused, eyes dilated with sudden desire.

Above her, Pat looked down. The collar of her shirt was wide open and he could see down her cleavage to where her white lace bra held her beautiful breasts. Her hands burned on his calf, and his cock throbbed, wanting nothing more than to plunge into her.

Lips parted, Nicole gazed at his crotch. She could see where his shaft tented the thin cloth of his shorts. Sudden heat flooded her sex, and her nether lips unfurled, aching to take his manhood within her. She ran her hands up his legs until she reached his thighs, then pulled her face towards his groin, her cheek rubbing against his rock-hard phallus.

"No." The sound was strangled, and Pat pulled away as if his legs were made of lead. "No, Nicole. This is wrong. I won't do this to you."

He dropped the golf club and went upstairs, almost running in his flight to escape her.

Abandoned and desolate, Nicole sat on the floor, aching with unfulfilled need.

****

Pat closed and locked his bedroom door, then flung himself down on his bed, shaking in the aftermath of what had almost occurred. His hand gripped his cock, and it was all he could do to not yank his shorts down and bring himself to a sudden, violent climax.

What are you thinking about, you perv? He pulled his hand away, blushing in shame. His mind sneered at him. Great. Give yourself a quick little handjob while fantasizing about your stepmother. That's classy. You might as well be some redneck piece of garbage from Chicken Gizzard, Tennessee.

It's not like that, another part of his brain desperately said. I didn't mean to get a hard-on. I'm not really attracted to her. It's just been so long...

Not attracted to her? Who are you trying to fool? Don't you remember?

Sixteen months ago...

"Goodnight, Dad," he said quietly. He hesitated, then hugged his father, taking care to be gentle. For the first time since he was a little boy, he kissed him, his lips soft on his tan cheek.

"Good night, Patrick," His father replied, his arms holding him tight. For a moment their eyes locked and they nodded, having said everything that was necessary.

Nicole stood up to hug and kiss him goodnight, and they stood there for a moment, each drawing strength from the other.

He was only a few steps up the staircase when his legs gave out. Shaking, he sat down on one of the risers, covering his face with trembling hands, trying to keep from crying.

His father was dying.

A soft voice came from the family room, where Nicole had sat down beside his father.

"He seemed to take that fairly well," she said, not knowing he was sitting only a few yards away.

"For now," came his father's tired reply. "Keep an eye on him, Nicky. He's a good boy. No," he said, correcting himself. "He's a good man. But he's going to have a terrible amount of pressure on him.

"I've called a board meeting for tomorrow. I'll let them know what is going on and that Pat will inherit and be president, with Lars and Marco as advisers.

"So he'll have to learn the business much faster than anyone should have to. And deal with me and all this dying bullshit. And help you. And Danny.

"Make sure he makes time for himself, Nicky. I've seen it before. A man or woman spends so much time on their job that they forget they're human and that they can have a life.

"That's what was happening to me, before I met you. Thank you for that. For everything."

For a few minutes, silence.

"Greg?" her voice was tentative. "Do you think you're strong enough?"

"For what? Oh," he said, and there was a thread of his father's old humor in the sound. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

"No," his stepmother said. "I want to do it down here. Where we first made love in this house. One last happy memory before we face tomorrow."

"For you, love? Anything."

Pat was frozen to his seat, rigid with fear and shameful arousal. He knew he should move, go upstairs, let his father and Nicole have this moment between them.

But if he went upstairs now, would they hear? Know that he had been spying on them like some sick pervert?

For long minutes there were only murmured voices, and soft whispers of cloth as clothes were shed and discarded.

"No," came Nicole's voice at last. "Let me. Lay down. I'll take care of everything." Her voice, deeper than usual, held an indulgent, throaty chuckle.

Her form rose over the back of the sofa, and Pat's eyes widened. He had known since the day he first met her that Nicole was gorgeous, but seeing her daily had dulled his appreciation for her beauty. Lit in the dim light coming from the one lamp that was still on, her body was a glory of shadowed perfection.

Even at thirty-four, she outshone every woman he had ever seen. Her dark chestnut hair fell down her back in riotous waves, her arms and shoulders were firm with muscle, and her breasts taut and full, capped with dark, swelling nipples that he wanted to take between his lips.

For a moment, it seemed that she looked right at him, hidden in the shadows of the staircase. Then she bent her head, lowering herself to his father's body, making love to him.

Scarlet with shame, Pat slowly backed up the stairs, hating himself for intruding on such a private moment. As he closed the door to his bedroom, he heard a sharp cry of joy from below.

****

The next morning was hideously awkward for both of them.

Pat sat at the table with Danny, eating oatmeal, unable to meet Nicole's eyes as she bustled around the kitchen. Opening the freezer, she put a package of steaks on the counter to thaw.

"I thought you might want to grill tonight, it being Friday," she said. "And don't the playoffs start today? We can watch the Cardinals beat the Cubs."

"Oh, no. You did not just go there," he growled. "This is our year."

"Sure it is," she laughed. "Isn't every year the year for the Cubbies? I don't know why you have to be so selfish," she said. "You won a World Series last century. Why do you need to win another one?"

He grinned and shook his head, some of the awkwardness fading. Their arguments about the merits of the Cardinals and the Cubs had sometimes reached monumental proportions when he was a teenager, and she had taken gleeful satisfaction when the Cards had won the World Series in 2006 and 2011.

Satisfaction, he swore, that he would repay in spades when the Cubs finally won.

"Danny," she said, breaking his train of thought, "It's time to leave for school. Go upstairs and get your backpack."

As the little boy left, he turned to his stepmother.

"Nicole, I..."

"No, Patrick. I apologize. It's my fault. I let my emotions get away with me. I shouldn't have tried to take advantage of you like that. I'm sorry."

"I only think it's taking advantage if the other side is unwilling," he replied softly. "I was just as...excited as you were, I think."

"Maybe," she said, not meeting his eyes. "But it wouldn't be fair. To me. To Danny. And especially to you."

"Even if I want you as badly as you want me?" he asked, unable to believe the words that were coming from his lips.

"Especially that," she replied. "It's not right. Things have been so crazy around here, my emotions so up in the air, I can't control myself, I..." she shook her head, unable to say what she was thinking.

She closed her eyes, then opened them as a pair of strong arms wrapped her in a loving embrace. Her head nestled against Pat's muscled chest, she let herself sink into his comforting warmth.

"It's OK," he said. "I understand. We all go a little whacko sometimes."

He bent his head down to kiss her cheek, but she turned so she caught it on her lips instead. Her mouth opened, moaning silently as her body molded itself to his. Her nipples peaked, contracting into molten buds on her chest, and she felt the heat against her stomach as his cock surged erect in his pants.

Panting, she tore herself away. "No," she grated, teeth clenched. "This is not going to happen."

"Right," he agreed, though his eyes were wide as a spooked horse.