Amber gets the coffee--and the news.

You laugh and say, “Of course, love.” She flushes with pleasure. “For my sake as well as yours,” you add with a grin, causing her flush to deepen. You kiss her thoroughly; she strokes your hair and your back as your tongue plays with hers.

When you break off the kiss, you say, “For the moment, I brought you something else.” You reach up, grab the coffee, and give it to her, saying, “It’s a little colder than it was supposed to be.”

Amber laughs and says, “I’ll take the trade.” She takes a long swallow. “It’s still warm enough.” She leans against you and takes another drink while you lightly caress her breast with your hand. She sets the cup down and wriggles her panties over her hips, then slides them off her legs and uses them to wipe up most of the mess. “This is getting a little uncomfortable. Why don’t we move where we can cuddle properly?”

You agree; you stand up and help her up. Once you have her to her feet, you grab a dishrag, wet it a little, and use it to mop up the rest of your combined puddle. You pick up your pants and boxers, Amber shows you where to toss the rag and her panties, and the two of you head upstairs to her bedroom. For simplicity’s sake, you both strip off the rest of your clothes and climb into bed. You sit up against the headboard; she leans against you and you hold her as she finishes her drink. You start to tell her about your encounter with her mother at the coffee shop, and she looks at you in disbelief. “What was she thinking?” Amber asks. Since you haven’t come up with an answer to that question, you shake your head and say nothing.

Before she can say anything else, her phone pings. Startled, the two of you look over at it; in the notification, you can see the line, “Isn’t this your mom?” You groan and feel yourself go cold, intuitively sure of what’s coming. Amber looks at you, puzzled, then grabs her phone and opens the notification. Sure enough, a friend has sent her a link—someone recorded your collision with April and posted it online. The whole thing is there, so obviously someone else in the coffee shop saw it coming.

When you hear your voice say, “I’ve found a younger woman who’s actually my intellectual equal,” Amber blushes and suddenly looks ****. Her blush deepens as the recording continues. Then you hear yourself say, “She even has better tits.” You wince—you really shouldn’t have said that—but Amber’s eyes go wide and she puts a hand to her chest. She sets the phone down on her leg and stares off into the distance. You look at the screen and see it lingering on April. You see her sit down—and take out her phone to make a call. With that, the video cuts off. “I wonder who she called?” you ask under your breath.

That catches Amber’s attention. She snaps back to you and asks, “What did you say?”

“The end of the video shows your mom making a call,” you tell her. “I’m just wondering who she called.”

Amber pauses for a few moments, then goes in a completely different direction. “Do you really feel that way about me?” she asks in a small voice.

Caught off guard, you ask, “Huh?”

“Do you really think of me as your intellectual equal? Do you really think I’m hotter than Mom?” She pauses again. “I know you said it earlier, but do you really like my tits better?” She pauses again; this is hard for her to ask. “If she wanted you back right now, would you really rather be with me?”

“Oh, love,” you say softly, and gather her into your arms. She slides down a little and buries her face in your neck. “Oh, sweet love. Yes, I meant every word of it. Yes, I absolutely believe you have better tits”—you can feel Amber smile against you—“even though I wish I hadn’t said that. It was true, but it wasn’t kind or gracious, and it’s really not the way I ought to be speaking in public. And I’ve always thought of you as my intellectual equal.”

“Even when I was fifteen?” Amber asks in surprise.

“Of course. You weren’t any less smart then. You didn’t know as much, and you weren’t as wise, but I could see from the first how bright you are and how interested in the world around you. We’re all pretty foolish at fifteen and twenty, but you’ve always been much better than most. Yeah, there were some issues at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, though I wonder now how many of them were because what you really wanted to hear me say was ‘Come to bed with me’”—

“A lot,” Amber says in a muffled voice. You look down and see her blushing furiously.

“—but I’ve always respected your thoughtfulness and your judgment. You don’t express a strong opinion without having thought it through carefully, which is all too rare among people of any age.”

You pause for a moment, then continue. “You’re definitely hotter than your mother, and not just physically.” Amber looks up at you in some confusion. “I like your spirit better, in bed and out. Your mother . . . how do I say this.” You spend a few moments thinking, while Amber waits patiently. “Your mother is all about herself in some very particular ways. She’s still great in bed because she enjoys giving pleasure and she gets wildly turned on, but she liked making me cum because it excited her, not for my sake. She likes making men feel good about themselves for much the same reason. Plus, she’s learned that helping others get what they want can help her get more of what she wants. But any real self-sacrifice? No.

“Look at you, by contrast. You were always more concerned about me for my own sake than she was, even when you were sixteen. You have the instincts for the right kind of selfishness in bed”—you can see Amber’s blush rising again—“but just from today, it’s clear that you really want to please me, too. Your mother usually gives as good as she gets, but in the end, she always puts herself first. You’re a partner in bed—you want sex to be something we’re doing together.”

“How can you tell?” Amber asks softly.

“I don’t know, it’s just a feel. But I’ve learned to trust my gut in evaluating people. It’s a big reason the business has done so well—I’m good at hiring the right people for the right positions. Of course, romantic relationships aren’t anything like hiring . . .”

“How did you end up with my mother, then?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t be too hard on her. Everyone has their nasty side. Besides, in the old cliché, she swept me off my feet, and when the sex is that good—and that often—it’s easy to overlook other things.

“But I have a question, baby.” Amber looks up at you. “Why do you find it so hard to believe I meant what I said to your mother?”

“I—” She pauses, looking somehow very fragile.

“It’s OK, love, take your time. I’m here.”

Amber takes a deep breath and says, “Mom—the good things you said about her were only toward men. She’s predatory toward other women, always subtly putting them down or undermining them so they can’t compete with her. Even me.”

This stuns you. “Even you?”

“Yeah. She was very careful around you—I’d guess she didn’t want you being roused to my defense, and she could tell you cared about me—but from her I got a steady stream of stuff that I’d never be her equal, and if I wanted to come close I needed to change and be more like her. She makes me feel inferior. She always has.”

You close your eyes, breathe deep, and keep yourself under tight control. You’re furious at April, but she isn’t here—Amber is—and it would be deeply wrong (and bitterly ironic) to take that out on Amber. You finally open your eyes again to see Amber watching you closely. “Yeah. I don’t really want to base my identity on being better than my mother—I want to be my own woman, not her mirror image—but what you said . . . I needed to hear that. I need to know you believe that.”

“Oh, sexy girl, you can be sure I do. To give you up for her would be a downgrade, and no mistake. I don’t ever plan to let you go.”

“Thank you,” Amber says softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You sit in silence for some time, then Amber says, “She was probably trying to make trouble for you somehow.”

Your mind was elsewhere, so you say, “Huh?”

“That phone call, remember?”

“Oh, right. Go on, sorry.”

“Still,” Amber continues, “she can’t hurt your business, neither of us has done anything illegal, I’m not breaking any school rules, and we haven’t done anything we’re ashamed of. I think it’s safe to say that whatever she tries, she can’t do us any real harm. I have you, and you have me, and nothing she can do is going to change that, right?”

Despite herself, Amber can’t quite keep a trace of insecurity out of that last line. You smile and say, “Right.” Then you kiss her.

Amber keeps the kiss going for a long time, then breaks off to say breathlessly, “As long as you keep kissing me like that, I don’t care what my mother does.” She kisses you again, then takes the last swallow of her coffee, sets the empty cup on her nightstand, and slides down in bed. She draws you down with her and snuggles up against you, spooned. Softly, she says, “I’m sorry you had to deal with her.”

You kiss her ear, making her purr in pleasure, then say, “It’s OK. Remember what I was just saying. Just before I ran into her, I was thinking how much better off I am now than I was a week ago. Aside from the inconvenience of finding a new place to live, everything else is better. She rejected me, but you’ve erased that.” You kiss her on the neck and continue, “I’m in a new relationship with a woman I’ve loved, respected, and enjoyed spending time with for years.” Amber blushes with pleasure. You kiss her neck some more and say, “Again, remember what I said. What guy has ever complained about moving on to a new girlfriend who’s younger, hotter, and hornier?”

Amber’s blush deepens. She turns her head to kiss you back and responds, “You always know the right thing to say.” She rubs her ass against you and coos in pleasure to feel how long and hard you’ve gotten. “Up for another round?” she asks in a sultry voice.