I turned again to the screen, not really watching it, but planning my move.
“That was an invitation, by the way,” Audrey said at my side, always a step ahead of me.
I pushed her back on the couch and crawled over her, pinning her hands over her head. “Was it now? I’m allowed to stop watching this sappy chick flick then, but only if I instead turn my focus to draining every last drop of cum from your pussy?” My cock had softened during her talk of other lovers, but now it was back to full mast.
I bucked against her so she’d know.
“It’s an invitation, not an obligation!” she giggled, and I kissed her. Kissed her hard.
“Your pussy is never an obligation,” I said when I came up for air. “You’re very naughty for even thinking it could be.”
“I am naughty. I deserve to be punished, don’t I? Are you going to spank me, Daddy?”
God, she was perfect. She’d probably meant to dress like a schoolgirl. She knew it would drive me mad, and it did.
She’d pay for that.
“Daddy has another punishment in mind, and you’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?”
She squeaked out a yes that made me growl.
“Right answer. Take off your knickers.” I slapped the side of her thigh then pushed off her and made quick work of unfastening my trousers and sliding my boxers down my thighs. I was too impatient to take them off any farther, and I had what I needed available and ready for her.
And she was ready for me, her knickers now discarded on the floor.
I sat back where I’d been sitting before and reached for her, intent on pulling her onto my cock, which was throbbing and red for want of her. But then I noticed her dazed expression. She wet her lips with her tongue and I followed her gaze to the swollen staff between my legs.
She wanted it in her mouth. It was all over her face. Those were the kinds of tells I was talking about.
I stroked my fist up and down my length. “You think you can suck me good, Audrey? You think you can take all of me and make it good?”
She blinked her lashes exaggeratedly. “I don’t know if I can,” she said, feigning innocence that she didn’t truly possess. “It’s so big. Would you let me try?”
A drop of cum leaked from my tip, I was so turned on.
“You may try.”
Her eyes never left mine as she knelt on the sofa and bent over me. She had to turn her head to maintain the contact as she took my crown into her mouth, and God, it was perfect. So perfect. Her mouth was hot and wet and heaven. She wrapped her small hand around the base and eased the length of me back toward the inside of her cheek. My head rubbed against the inner wall of her mouth sending electric sparks of bliss down my spine. I let out a low hiss of pleasure.
Then she changed her angle, and this time when she sucked me back, she took me in deep. She hollowed out her cheeks, increasing the friction along my shaft and making me shudder.
She was so bloody sexy. So goddamned provocative. I was in near mindless ecstasy, but I needed to touch her. I needed to taste her.
I reached my hand around her backside and underneath her skirt. I smacked her once, and she yelped. The sound vibrated against my cock, sending another euphoric spasm through my body. I gritted my teeth and focused on not coming. She’d take my cum, she’d swallow all of it, I was sure, but I wanted to be wrapped in her pussy when I released. At the rate this was going, I’d need to make sure that happened soon.
I needed to get her ready.
My hand trailed along her slit until they found her hole. She was wet. Dripping wet. So wet that three fingers slid in easily.
“You’re such a naughty girl, aren’t you? Getting so aroused from sucking my cock. You love it, don’t you? Tell me how much you love it.”
She dragged her lips slowly up my erection. My crown fell out of her mouth with a loud pop. “I love it so much. I love how big you are. You make me so wet.”
I had to have her mouth, that dirty mouth. Had to taste it and inhabit it. Had to be inside her with my tongue the way I needed to be inside her with my cock.
I clamped my palm behind her neck and drew her close. She came to me like a magnet, like we were meant to clash together. Like we couldn’t be apart.
We kissed fiercely, our mouths twisting and slipping against each other while she climbed over me, her legs straddling my thighs. With one hand still braced behind her head, I used the other to guide myself inside her slick cunt. She trembled as she slid down my length, and I swallowed her accompanying cry.
I know, I told her with my kiss.
I know how good it feels. You make me feel that good too.
She rode me then, with vigor, her hips bouncing up and down over my cock like it was her vocation. I broke away from her mouth to watch her and nearly fell apart. She was a kinky little wretch, squeezing at her pert breasts through her blouse, her orange pleated skirt hitched high on her thighs. She looked like a goddamn Britney Spears video. A vixen of a schoolgirl, writhing on the plumpness of my cock.
“Don’t pull out,” she said, her breathing rapid. “I want you to fill me up.”
I was going to burst any second, she was so fucking hot, but I needed her to go with me. My thumb reached under her skirt and found the button of nerves hidden under the hood of skin. It only took a handful of swipes before her muscles were tensing and her breathing turned rapid. Just as she stopped breathing all together, I gripped my hands on her thighs and ploughed up into her, fast and hard and insistent until we we were both there together, gasping and shattering apart as one.
I kissed her leisurely for a long time after, my cock half soft but still planted inside her. When she eventually crawled off of me, I groaned at the loss of her heat.
“My legs are asleep,” she said, as though I deserved an explanation. As though there couldn’t be any other reason why she’d want to get off my cock.
I liked believing that, anyway.
She curled up next to me, laying her head on my chest. I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to let her go, so I didn’t tuck myself away. I just held her, placing soft kisses along her apple-scented hair. We didn’t talk. We didn’t say anything at all.
The movie had continued during our activity and was now near the end. I found myself caught up in its ending when Harry finally realizes Sally is the woman meant for him and runs to her, bursting into the party she’s at on New Year’s Eve so he can win her heart with a speech that could only have been written by a woman. It was so sappy and moving.
It wasn’t a spoiler of an ending, even having missed a good portion of it. It was a rom-com. That was how all of these things ended, a blissful, happy myth. It was a lie, but instead of being annoyed like I usually was by it, I found I felt sad.
“I want that,” Audrey said softly.
I wanted that too. Everyone did. That was what made it so easy to sell.
“It doesn’t have to be a speech,” she continued when I didn’t say anything. “It doesn’t have to be a party. It doesn’t have to be any of that specifically. I just want the guy. I just feel like it’s never going to happen some days.”
She sounded as melancholy as I felt, and I hated that. It was one thing for me to be a scrooge, but not her. Not yet. She deserved years of living the fable before she discovered that endings were never happy. Hell, maybe she could even go through a separation without being broken. If I hadn’t been so antagonistic with my ex-wife, maybe…but it didn’t bear thinking about.
I kissed her on the top of her hair and summoned up the advice she needed, the advice I would have wanted when I was where she was in life, innocent and foolish and eager.
“That’s a lot of pressure you’re putting on the universe, to have things happen on your timeline, in your way. It doesn’t give fate a chance to work the perfect ending you’re waiting for. I think this is a case for that old adage—if you love something, set it free. If you believe that fate will bring you the guy you belong with, then stop tryi
ng to force it. Stop trying to predict it. Stop trying to rush it along. Let the idea of falling in love go. It will come back to you when the time is right.”
She was quiet for several beats. Since she wasn’t facing me, I couldn’t see her eyes, but she made a noise that sounded like a sniffle, and I wondered if she was trying not to cry.
If she was, she managed to hold it in because her voice was clear when she spoke. “That’s very optimistic of you, Dylan. I’m impressed.”
I chuckled. “I fail to see how having no expectations is optimistic.”
She shifted so she could see me. “No expectations? Do you really not expect anything from your future? I understand letting go, but giving up?”
Perhaps she felt my pep talk to her deserved one in return, but I was long past giving up. Her words of hope and encouragement were worthless, delivered in vain.
“Of course I have expectations,” I said, kissing her on the nose. “I expect another round riding your pussy in about ten minutes.”
Her eyes grew dark and hooded. “Why ten minutes?”
“Because first I’m ready for dessert.” I pushed her onto her back and went down. She tasted like me and her together, and my dick hardened again, but I ignored my need and devoted myself to pleasing her. Only her. I ate her like I was a starving man. Like I was a man who still had a chance of being saved. Like I was a man who wasn’t already dead inside.
Thirteen
As Audrey’s third date with Marco approached, I found myself more and more restless. More and more jealous, to be precise. It was easier to push aside when I was with her, when she was in my arms and my cock was lodged firmly inside her, but when we were apart, my mind latched onto thoughts of her with him, thoughts of him kissing her and seducing her. I had a solid picture of him in my head—dark unruly hair, thick biceps, a charming smile that persuaded unsuspecting young women like Audrey to hand over their knickers with a gift-wrapped bow.
Wanker.
It was ridiculous how much I thought about it. She’d been out on other dates, and I hadn’t been so bothered. Mostly because my truth was that I was the man who got to talk to her before she left for her dinner or her play or her game of bowling, and I was the man who talked to her when she came home. Others had her for a few hours, but I was in her bed. And because of that, it had been hard to take her dating seriously.
But she had never had a third date.
She’d never even had a second date, and this new development haunted me. Marco became an obsession. Google became my enabler. I typed in combinations of what I knew—his name, his occupation, his religious denomination. I felt crazed as I searched for him. This wasn’t me. Why was I acting like a stalker?
But I couldn’t help myself. I was out of control.
Even as I told myself to stop, I couldn’t. It wasn’t like me, but then, nothing about Audrey was like anything I’d ever experienced.
I was a wanker, too.
When Google led to nothing, I had a chance to stop myself. I told myself to stop being a loon and focus on my work like a normal, rational person. I told myself to shut my browser and step away.
Then, somehow, like a mad man, I found myself on the Gallery website studying the staff listings. I paired the surname of every male on the roster with Marco’s name, typing them into Google one at a time until I hit a match. Marco Ceresola. He was on Instagram.
Jesus, fuck, I muttered to myself. He was even worse than I imagined. His skin was flawless, his eyes large and piercing. Apparently a six-pack wasn’t good enough for him. He had to go and get an eight-pack, which I only knew because of the countless images he’d posted of himself bare-chested. And that damn Yorkie was pussy-bait. There were more pictures of that ball of fur than of its owner. Adorable photos that made even the hardest of hearts melt. I was half convinced I’d drop trou for that puppy, and I neither cared for dogs nor men.
I couldn’t go on like this.
I was barely sleeping. I was irritated and jittery from copious amounts of Earl Grey. I was out of my mind with envy. Yes, yes, I wanted the best for Audrey, and if the outside image was all there was to know about a person, then Marco Ceresola was absolute perfection, but in my experience, the story projected to the public was rarely the real story. Or at least, not the whole story.
Without any real proof, my gut said this guy was bad news. My head knew I was overreacting, but I didn’t care. I had to do something about it before she made a mistake and fell in love. Before she got her heart crushed. Before I went insane.
Thursday afternoon, one day before the big date, I settled on exactly what that something was—I had to ring Donovan. He’d take care of my dilemma. He’d offered often enough, but I hadn’t been desperate to take him up on it. Marco, though… Marco made me desperate.
I shut my office door for privacy and pulled out my mobile. I flipped through my contacts and found Donovan’s information.
My thumb hovered over the call button as I hesitated. Once Donovan was involved, there was no turning back. He wasn’t the kind of man who tolerated flakiness. I considered what I wanted my friend to do, exactly. Set a tail on Audrey to be there in case she got in trouble? Get rid of this boyfriend altogether? Get rid of all her boyfriends?
That was the rub, wasn’t it? As soon as I got involved once, it made the line of interference immovable. I was always going to be That Guy. Either I had to let Audrey live her own life and make her own mistakes, or I’d be in this endless pursuit of trying to make her life perfect for her.
And I already knew there was no such thing as a happy ending. So what was I expecting from that course of action?
I couldn’t do it, couldn’t intrude. But I couldn’t just wait around and obsess while she lived her life, either. A distraction was necessary.
I put my mobile down and returned to the Gallery’s staff webpage. A few clicks and I had the number I was looking for. I picked up my phone again and made the call.
Midway through my dinner the next night, I realized I’d made a big mistake.
As painful as it was to sit at home while she went on a date with Marco, going on a date of my own was even more miserable. Especially going on a date with Jana Spruce.
I’d thought it had been a rather practical idea when I’d had it. If Audrey was going to be dating, I should too. Not because I was looking for the same thing that she was—I wasn’t. But it seemed like a good way to occupy my mind while she was off trying to find her happily ever after. If I only went out on one date, two at the most with the same woman, no one could become attached. I wouldn’t bed them. I might even gain something from it—a nice meal, good company and conversation. The plan sounded perfect.
It was only a coincidence that I chose Audrey’s boss to be my first date. Since I hadn’t been looking for a woman to ask out, my choices had been limited, and Jana Spruce had hit on me the night I’d met her at the fundraiser anyway. It had only barely crossed my mind that Jana might tell her subordinate about our evening out. I hadn’t fancied that Audrey would find herself in the same jealous torment that I was in.
Well, I hadn’t overly fancied it anyway.
The evening with Jana had started well enough. The restaurant had been my choice, so the food was excellent. The service was above satisfactory. Jana was punctual and looked nice. She was smart and interesting and attractive and was a superb storyteller. She was a divorcee with two kids who were near Aaron’s age, and that gave us a lot to talk about. I didn’t normally date women who had parenting in common with me, and it was, it turned out, a pleasant change. She was also very funny, though I failed to laugh at most of her jokes. That had nothing to do with her—it was a me problem. I saw the humor, saw the wit in her jokes, but I saw Marco and Audrey far more vividly. Even in the midst of engaging conversation, Audrey’s date was foremost in my mind.
Which was why the entire night was a disaster. I hadn’t distracted myself from anything at all. I’d only proven that I was very capable of multitasking my ago
ny.
And agony was much better performed with no distractions for optimal wallowing.
As soon as Jana excused herself to use the loo, I reached for my phone in hopes of a message from Audrey. I’d been itching to look since dinner began. Though Audrey usually didn’t contact me during her dates, I hoped that this time was different. Hoped that Marco had bailed on her or that she’d bailed on him or that she was bored or dismayed or something. Anything.
There was nothing. Not a single notification from anyone. My stomach sank at the implications. She didn’t need me. She didn’t want me. She was having a nice night. And it didn’t involve me.
I pocketed my phone, but pulled it out twice more to look again before Jana returned. The last time I even rebooted it, just in case there was an issue with my mobile or the service connection.
“Is there something you need to attend to?” Jana asked when she returned and found me staring at my screen.
“No. Sorry. Just checking my messages.” With a sag of my shoulders, I put my phone away, but even with it back in my jacket pocket, I could feel it burning against my chest, ceaselessly nagging for my attention.
Jana was quiet as she took a swallow of the brandied latte she’d ordered in lieu of dessert. I’d hoped she would have skipped the course all together so I could get back to my pining. I’m not sure I didn’t sigh audibly when she asked to see the coffee menu. It would be over soon enough. Another ten minutes, probably, at most. I could be patient.
“Can I ask you something?” Jana asked studying me.
I nodded, afraid if I actually spoke that she’d hear the irritation in my tone.
“Why am I here?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She shook her head dismissively. “A better question is why are you here? I’m sure you realize that I fancied you that night we met, and I was excited when you reached out. I didn’t think for a minute that you were interested in anything serious. A smart, sexy man like you would have a woman if he wanted one. I assumed when you called that you were looking for the same thing that I am—companionship. I’m certainly not keen on marrying again or even getting involved in a relationship, but I do enjoy a good lay as much as the next woman. If that’s why you’re here, then all we need to work out is your place or mine.
Sweet Fate Page 14
