But come Saturday evening, when our work is done for the day, I’m distracted and impatient. I want to call her when she gets off work, but it’s nearly an hour away, and I’m more anxious than I care to admit waiting for the time to pass. I’ve been leery of my mom’s suspicion ever since Sara’s birthday, and I have no doubt she notices my odd behavior. But at ten-thirty, I dismiss myself by saying I’m going for a walk—odd behavior or not.

As soon as I’m out of earshot of the cabin, I dial Rowan, waiting in anticipation to hear her voice. And when I do, my stress and anxiety release immediately. I wonder if I have such a strong effect on her, too. I walk for a long time along the shore, ambling along the well-worn paths of shoreline. We talk about nothing at all important, just needing to hear the sound of each other’s voice. She tells me she set off the fire alarm in my apartment when she tried to burn my kitchen down again with a frozen pizza, and I’m in ecstasy just listening to her talk and laughing at the images of her standing on the dining room table with a broom trying to fan the fire alarm. I have tears in my eyes from laughing so hard by the time she finishes her story. I keep strolling on, more content than I’ve been since my shower with her the night before. As we talk on, I confess I’m now on day two of my underwear and will be going commando by the next morning. It’s now her turn to laugh

By the time I can see the cabin again, all of my stress and anxiety are gone, and though I’ll miss her until I see her again, I’m finally happy. I can’t wait until the next night. I make her promise not to cook anything else until I get home. I also promise her I’ll cook her dinner the next night if she can manage not to burn down the kitchen before then. And as I hike across the lawn of the cabin while wrapping up my call with her, a broad smile is set on my face. But when I hit the porch, I see my mom waiting for me on the porch swing and weariness sinks in.

She’s smiling when my eyes meet hers, and I move to join her on the swing, suddenly quite curious of her good mood. Not that my mother is prone to bad moods. She’s an elementary art teacher, after all, and known for being fun and energetic. As I sit, she puts a hand on mine. Then she speaks, leaving no room for comment. “It’s nice to see you smile, dear. I don’t have any idea what is going on with you right now, but if it makes you smile this much, you won’t hear any objection from me.”

At that, she stands and starts to stroll back toward the front door. Once there, she pauses and looks at me once more. “You know your happiness is more important than anything else to your father and me, don’t you?” She then disappears inside, leaving me a bit dumbfounded and confused by her comment.

I stay on the swing for a while longer, thinking about her words. I’m perplexed at her intent. Of course I know my parents want me to be happy. Why did she feel the need to tell me that? Does she think I’ve been unhappy? Or does she think I will be? Is she wrong? Of course not. I will be unhappy. When I leave Rowan for Denver, I will, without doubt, be unhappy. For how long, I have no idea—a week, a month, forever? Does she know I’m dreading my move to Colorado? Does she know why? She’s perceptive, I’ll give her that, but just how perceptive? I know she must be suspicious given my behavior recently and how I’ve acted around Rowan, but what can she really know?

For a fleeting moment, I consider confiding in her, but regardless of her words I find it hard to believe she would be happy to hear about the secret I’ve been keeping for the better part of the school year. I find it hard to believe she wouldn’t find objection with the liberties I’ve been taking with Rowan. Her words are kind, and I get it. She wants me to be happy, but she has no idea what makes me happy. If she did, she wouldn’t be nearly so generous with her well wishes. Of that, I’m certain.

I eventually retreat to bed and fall fast asleep, waking the next morning to Sara’s music playing way too loud and her dancing around the kitchen with Rufus in tow. The dog is barking in excitement, and Sara is doing her best to follow the dance moves to some random hip hop romance movie on the TV… You know, West Side Story for the twenty-first century. She is failing miserably and looks ridiculous, but holding true to Sara form, she could care less.

“Look … look … look! I almost did that move. Did you see that?” She’s practically yelling in her excited flurry. “I should have been a dancer. I could … yeah … I could totally be a rock star at this!” She’s short on breath for her exertions, and I can’t help but laugh. As her older brother, I know I should be irritated with her, but I’m not quite able to get the image out of my mind of her pathetic attempt at, what’s it called—Crunk—with Rufus trying to join in the fun. Her face is scrunched up in her focus as she tries to follow moves she has no hope of ever copying, but she just … doesn’t … care! She pulls off ridiculous better than anyone I know.

We eventually get down to work, and I again engross myself in my tasks. I collect the branches that have fallen in the yard and pile them high on the fire pile before cleaning the gutters and then mowing the yard. When we’re finally done for the day and ready to head home, I’m practically pulling out of the driveway before my car door is even closed.

I stop at the grocery store when I hit Allendale and stock up on everything I need for the meal I promised Rowan. The checkout line is slow, and I silently curse the dawdling cashier for keeping me away from Rowan for even longer than I’ve already been away from her. When I finally come through the door with my groceries, Rowan is working on homework at the kitchen table. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, she’s wearing the reading glasses that make her look so fucking sexy, and her skimpy tank top and ever loose pajama pants. I no longer have to wonder what she hides under those baggy pants as I’ve seen every inch of figure, but they remind me of the early days of our time together, when I wondered incessantly about her body.

She helps me put away the groceries, and as she does, I start to peel her clothes off of her. As she reaches to put an extra box of pasta on a high shelf, I pull her tank top up and over her head before she can object. And as she bends to drop a box of dishwasher detergent under the sink, I slide her pants and underwear to her ankles, kissing both cheeks of her ass as I do. She’s now naked and eyeing me suspiciously. But she wastes no time playing my game and starts stripping me of my clothes as well.

When we’re both naked and the groceries put away, we set about cooking. I’m hard as hell the whole time watching her move around the kitchen. And she’s spending an awful long time focusing on my cock rather than anything else, including watching where she is going. And when I catch her running into the kitchen counter because she’s staring at my penis rather than minding her feet, I can’t help but laugh. She blushes furiously before blaming me for her little accident.

I manage to pull off salmon fillets, though having an erection for the past hour is fast becoming excruciating. And as we sit to eat, I struggle to think about anything but her and what I want to do to her body. Her breasts taunt me from across the table as I try to force myself to eat. I’d like to say the salmon was good, but as I was so focused on her tits I can’t really say what it tasted like.

Once dinner is over and the table cleared, I pull her back to my shower and we end our weekend the same way we started it. I wash her body as my erection brushes, nudges, and quite frankly, tries to invade her body anywhere and everywhere it touches her. She finally reaches for me and starts to stroke up and down on my shaft, lathering soap as she goes. It is the touch my body has been waiting for, and once she’s done washing and rinsing me, she kneels and takes me deep in her mouth. I’m beyond eager and keep inadvertently clutching her hair in my fists and pumping her mouth hard, too hard. Every time I try to reign in my thrusts, I fail miserably and find I’m right back to fucking her mouth harshly and invasively. Her eyes are uneasy but trusting as always. I finally give up and pull from her mouth, not wanting to scare her more than I have already, or worse yet, hurt her. I offer a quiet apology as I shake my head in frustration at myself. I’m again reminded of just how much I loathe the feeling of humiliation.

She stands watching me, and I offer her what explanation I can give. “I’m just coming undone. I’m sorry. I can’t stop, and I don’t want to be too rough with you. But I’m either going to fuck the hell out of your face or your pussy and neither is okay.”

She raises a good-natured eyebrow in mock contemplation, and at her smile I start to relax once again. But I’m terrified to touch her. Rowan naked in my kitchen for over an hour after an incredibly long weekend away from her was too much torment for me to handle, and now my restraint for her is perilously close to non-existent. She stands quietly by, waiting for me to give her some sort of direction while I will myself to get a hold of myself.

After thinking and watching her for a long time, I come up with a plan—likely ill-advised, but a plan nonetheless. “I’ll make you a deal. If you promise not to fuck me, I’ll let you tie me up and have your way with me. However tormenting it might be… At least then I don’t have to worry about being too rough with you or doing something I’ll regret.” Again her eyebrows raise, and I’m suddenly afraid this might not have been my best idea ever. But she’s in a good mood and ready to play. She holds her hand out to me, and as I reach out to shake hers, she winks at me. Quite the vixen tonight, isn’t she?