Chasing The O

by LaBelle, Lorelai

  “It’s across the street. That red old-fashioned general store.” He pointed to a cute two-story building. We jaywalked across the dead road, found a four-person table by a street-side window, and calmly sat in the vacant café. I didn’t know what to do, fidgeting for a while before folding my arms across my chest, clutching my arms as tightly as I could.

  He scratched the back of his head, looking at the table, unsure how to proceed. “So, you’re a drug addict?”

  “Recovering drug addict,” he inserted quickly.

  I brushed aside the comment. “For how long?”

  “I’ve been in NA since late May two thousand fifteen,” he answered, his elbows on the table, his eyes looking out the window. “I was in rehab for a few weeks before that . . .” He was struggling to get the words out.

  After a long pause, I said, “I guess my biggest question is why? You don’t seem like a partyer, so how did you get into drugs?” He finally looked me in the eye. His lips were shaking as he held back tears.

  A waiter came by with two glasses of water and asked if we wanted anything else to drink. After a decisive no from me, he said he’d be back in a minute to take our order. He moved too quickly for me to tell him I wasn’t interested in food.

  Vince was on the edge of a rainstorm. He held his breathing in check, stifling the flow of tears that could come at any moment. “My—” he started, but his throat grinded from dryness. He took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “After my adoptive parents died, my childhood wasn’t a fun one, being tossed from one foster home to the next. I never really got to know anyone, transferring to different schools. I never really had a constant in my life, you know, until my senior year of high school. Then I went off to Stanford. That’s where I met Skye, during my freshman year. I’d never met a girl like her. She was so caring and generous, and . . .

  “And we fell in love, hard. We moved in together our sophomore year, then I proposed our senior year, in September. We were planning on getting married after we graduated—you know, have a nice summer wedding outdoors. But in May, she and her sister were heading down to New Zealand for a weekend. Her brother-in-law was part of a film crew, and he had been down there shooting a movie for a few weeks. Anyway,” he choked. I could see his will weakening as streams steadily dribbled down his cheeks. “The plane—it crashed over the Pacific. There were no survivors.”

  He swallowed a dry, hard swallow. I put my hands out and reached for him, but the table was too big, and his face was buried in his hands, veiling his tears.

  I had no words: no way to comfort him.

  Vince was breathing through the pain, slowly collecting himself. Minutes later, he went on: “Skye was my life, my constant, and after her death . . .” He brought his red-rimmed eyes level with mine. “I fell apart. I couldn’t eat or sleep at all. That’s when I started taking sleeping pills, but they didn’t do the trick, and then I found an old bottle of Vicodin in my medicine cabinet. They numbed the pain and put me to sleep. I spent a lot of time sleeping then. I scraped by until graduation, already admitted into the mechanical engineering program for grad school, but then I found myself utterly alone that summer and things just seemed to get worse and worse.

  “In August, I remember being at a party, and this shady dude asked me if I wanted some ‘pearl,’ which I later found out was cocaine. I tried it . . . and after that, everything got worse. By May, I hit rock bottom. This was in two thousand fifteen now, and I had gone through a slew of drugs by that time, until Alma rescued me. She was the one who took me to rehab.

  “It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve bounced back, barely getting by during those long, long months. School of course didn’t go well, but I was good, and Alma, she was even better. Because of her, I graduated; because of her, I found life again . . .

  “Anyway, I’ve been going to NA every week since then, and every Thursday since moving to Portland. I’ve been clean since May of fifteen, and I still see a therapist to deal with Skye’s death.”

  There was another long pause. “Why—” I found I had no voice. I gulped down half my glass, trying to piece it all out. “Why couldn’t you tell me all this before?”

  “I’ve been trying to for weeks,” he said, his voice hoarse and nasally, his nose clogged. “I wanted to after the night we made the list, but the words never seemed right—they never came to me when I was about to broach the subject. I wanted to tell you all about it. And after you asked about Alma, I wanted to tell you even more, but I—I just couldn’t.” He winced, as if attacked by a sharp pain in his gut.

  “Skye was the reason you couldn’t sleep with Alma?” I asked, evaluating how hard a blow her death had been to him.

  He nodded. “After Alma helped me get cleaned up, we grew even closer, but we took it slow, remaining friends for almost a year before we decided to give a real relationship a chance. Months went by and I still couldn’t do it, still couldn’t get over the obstacle of seeing Skye’s face the moment Alma would try to get intimate.”

  Then it dawned on me and everything became clear. “So that’s why you were so distant the first two times we had sex?”

  He nodded again. “After you sent me that text, I knew I had screwed things up just like before, and I also knew I couldn’t lose you like that. I liked you too much to let ghosts from my past get in the way. But still . . . even though I got over what had been keeping me back for so many years, I couldn’t tell you, I couldn’t—”

  “It’s okay, Vince.” I got up and sat beside him in the empty chair. Wrapping my arms around him, I squeezed tight. He returned the embrace. “It’s okay. I understand. I get it.”

  He went silent. Tears were streaming down both our faces by then. I didn’t know how long they lasted, but it was a while. The waiter was smart enough to give us space; he never returned.

  “So, I didn’t scare you off?” he asked, smiling, snot on his upper lip. I handed him a napkin and he blew.

  “No,” I answered. “I just wish I wouldn’t have found out this way. I thought you were cheating on me, and then Danielle had convinced me you had a secret family living at that apartment complex.”

  He laughed. “A secret family. Is that right?” He blew again.

  “Walking in on an NA meeting was just as great a shock, though. Neither of us ever guessed drugs.”

  “Should you tell Danielle you’re okay?” he asked, looking his wristwatch. “It’s been over an hour.”

  “I’ll text her, yeah,” I said. “I told her to go home after thirty minutes.”

  “Do you want me to take you home?”

  I shook my head. “I’d like to stay with you tonight, if that’s all right.”

  He leaned in and kissed me.

  “There’s just one thing . . .” I started as we were leaving.

  “Yeah?” he prompted.

  I stopped on the sidewalk in front of the café. “How come your stint in rehab isn’t in the news, or on your Wikipedia page or whatever? I mean, as soon as a celebrity goes to rehab, it’s everywhere—in your face for days.”

  He gave me a small chuckle. “Well, I’m no celebrity, and I haven’t been wealthy that long,” he replied. “I’m sure given enough time, it will be. There probably won’t be any major digging into my past for a few years, though, with some luck. Right now, I’ve paid off the right people, which sounds bad, but so does ‘former druggie owns major alternative energy company,’” he air quoted.

  I laughed. “Yeah, that does sound bad.”

  We drove back to his place. In the solarium, I grabbed his arms, and turned him to face me, leaning in. We held each other without talking for a while. It was weird how much closer I felt to him now. I rose on my tiptoes and kissed him gently. The soft touch sent a shiver up my spine as we parted.

  Vince’s eyes locked with mine. “I know we haven’t known each other long, Maci, but I’m pretty sure I’m falling for you.”

  I leaned in for a second, harder kiss that lasted twice as long. After we separate
d, I felt like a motor had just been turned on, alive with desire. I stripped off his jacket, and lifted off his shirt so that he stood there in only his pants and shoes. His skin was so warm, and his muscles so hard. I glided over his abs and rubbed his growing erection through his pants.

  He stopped me. “I have a surprise for you,” he said breathily. He grabbed my hand and led me upstairs to the largest spare bedroom on the far end. Inside, he whipped around the corner into the bathroom, where we almost came to a crashing halt. “I had it installed a few days ago.”

  I gazed up and spotted the huge waterfall showerhead hanging from the ceiling where a light had been. My heartbeat picked up, excited. “Do both showerheads work?”

  “I guess we’ll have to find out.” He turned both handles and water spouted out of both. “Shall we cross another fantasy off the list?”

  I couldn’t help but bite my lip, eager. Stripping off the rest of our clothes, we stepped into the extravagant shower. One and a half sides were huge glass panes, while the other two and a half were expensive tile, with a corner bench on the half-wall.

  The water was hot and relieving. Our bodies collided under the soft pellets of the waterfall, slick and sexy. His tongue explored my mouth before swirling with mine. His cock had stiffened to its full length, and I squeezed it like he had showed me. “God, it’s so hard,” I gasped. “And thick.”

  His hand reached for my clit and he smiled, circling under the endless cascade. With dexterous fingers, he gently pinched my inner lips and stroked them. I could feel them parting as my veins burst afire. He slid a finger in, shallow at first, then deeper and deeper. “You’re so tight,” he said into my ear. He circled as he went in and out, slow and intentional. It was hard to see with the waterfall above, which added a different sensual element and increased my tactile sensitivity.

  “I have an idea,” he said abruptly, withdrawing his sweet fingers.

  I brushed the water from my eyes and saw him grab the detachable wall-mounted showerhead, bringing it down to my pussy. Tenderly, he massaged my clit with the showerhead. I let out a hard breath. The pressure of the water shot pulses of pleasure straight up my back to my neck. Stopping his hand after a moment, I replaced the showerhead, and pulled him directly under the waterfall.

  Then I knelt on the tile. The water slicked his cock and made it easy to pump up and down. My left hand ran up his thigh and around to his butt, keeping me stabilized. He was groaning as I raised his hard-on above his waist and probed his balls with my tongue. I slipped one in my mouth and sucked as I continued to pump his shaft. His breath hitched and he leaned back on the wall, his arms supporting him. “Jesus, what are you doing?” he cried out, his head tilted back.

  “Twirling my tongue around your balls,” I said happily.

  He was panting, constantly changing pitches, but between breaths I heard, “Oh, God! Suck it! Harder! Harder!” We hadn’t discussed much about dirty talk, but his words triggered something inside me and encouraged me to go a little wild. His hips flexed and his balls reacted, shifting in gravity. He grabbed my right hand, which had never stopped stroking, and brought me to my feet. Out of the water, he wiped his face, then kissed me with such passion, I thought he might come from it.

  He turned me around so that I faced the glass. His cock slid between my legs as he leaned against my back. His hands caressed my ass, which sounded marvelously naughty in my head as I thought about where they were going. They cruised down to my legs and back up again, slapping a cheek. “I want to fuck you—hard,” he whispered in my ear. The words, coupled with his hot breath, pushed me over the edge.

  I spread my legs a little, inviting him in.

  The head of his cock played with my lips, parting them. A breath later, he thrust in and a gasp exploded out of my mouth, while the sudden penetration sent a shockwave of pain and delicious gratification throughout my body. His cock went so much deeper from behind. It was a shock and a rush at the same time. Placing his hands on my hips, he picked up his tempo, forcing me to grab onto the top of the glass wall for support.

  He glided one of his hands around my body and fondled a breast, squeezing. The hand traveled down my stomach to my clit, where he pressed into me. Another jolt ran through my body and made me cringe in absolute ecstasy.

  Nearly losing his balance, he reached for the top of the glass, pushing closer and closer to the wall. With his weight, he pressed my body against the glass, my breasts squishing, the surprise of the cold tingling my hardening nipples. The position just screamed “sexy,” and in response I cried out, “Faster . . . Oh, yes, please. Faster!”

  The pressure was building deep inside me this time—bigger and bigger—and soon I was lost. For a time I had no thoughts, only the feeling . . . the sensation. It was only me and him—and the motion, the ceaseless rhythm. His fingers pressed harder and harder. His cock thrust faster and faster. Relentless.

  I could feel the explosion coming. My breaths were already so fast and so rough, that I didn’t know anything more could come out, until I felt the first scream leave. I couldn’t control or stop them.

  Grunting and moaning, Vince shouted, “Come. Come for me, sexy. Come for me, Maci.”

  I stiffened, falling apart at his words, the pressure unleashed, shattering me into a million pieces of orgasmic paradise. As if from afar, I could hear my own screams, muted: the explosive intensity consuming my thoughts, my senses, all that I was.

  As I settled, I heard Vince, still pumping, his breath hoarse. Suddenly he buried his cock as far as it would go while he called out my name. His fingers on my clit squeezed firmly, and then relaxed, while the rest of his body remained still and rigid. His cock pulsed inside me, and I shuddered every time it did.

  He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tenderly. I turned back, my mouth open, and he quickly leaned in, kissing me with eagerness. We parted, and he slowly, carefully pulled out, leaving me with an empty, and at once, full feeling.

  Full of satisfaction.

  14

  FOREST PARK

  Waking up to be at work at 4:45 in the morning had never been easy. Now, though, it was a hundred times worse. Late nights with Vince meant a day of fatigue the next. Add in a run or gym workout and I was dead. But I loved my job, and business still hadn’t picked up enough that I could ease back on the hours. Luckily, Bridgett handled most of the financial load.

  Vince had also been kind enough to set up our network on one of his visits to the bakery. He and Terrance often ate lunch there during the week. His bodyguard still hadn’t warmed up to me, which was strange. I’d never met a person so ostensibly cold. I received several glares a week from him. Sometimes I swore he was grinding his teeth when he looked at me.

  At the beginning of April, about three weeks after Vince’s dinner for my friends, I decided to surprise him with a lunch visit at his office. I had yet to see it. I knew his main office was in a downtown skyscraper. He had pointed it out from his condo before, but I never had the urge to drop in. Until that day.

  I’d never bothered to learn the names of the big buildings downtown, though some of them you couldn’t help but hear about, like the Wells Fargo Center and the Fox Tower, and the U.S. Bancorp Tower. Vince’s office was in the Bancorp Tower. Before Vince corrected me, I knew it as “the pink building” or “the copper building,” depending on the lighting. Imaginuity’s main lab was at another location, but they ran all of their office-related work from the skyscraper.

  On Vince’s floor, I walked up to the main secretary. “Excuse me.”

  She put a finger up to my face. “One moment.” She was looking down, nodding. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes, I’ll transfer you right now.” A second later she was staring up at me. “How can I help you?”

  “Where is Vince Forte’s office?” I asked pointedly.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Forte?”

  “Appointment? No.” I grew nervous. Would I need one? I am dating the man, after all.

&
nbsp; “I’m sorry, I can’t let you see him without an appoint—”

  “Wait!” I cut her off. “I’m here for a lunch appointment. Yes.”

  She eyed me, skeptical. “Ma’am, clearly you don’t have an appointment.”

  “Is everything all right?” a familiar voice asked behind me. I turned and saw Alma standing there in a skirt suit.

  “No, Ms. Perez,” the secretary answered quickly. “I was just about to tell this woman that she will need to set up an appointment in order to see Mr. Forte.”

  Alma snorted. “Unlikely,” she said with a tart bite. “This is Maci Goodwin, Vince’s companion.” The way she said the word made me sound like an escort.

  “Girlfriend,” I corrected, getting the words out in a hurry, almost stumbling over them. “I’m his girlfriend.”

  “Don’t worry, Cassandra, I’ll show her the way,” Alma said, taking my arm in a fierce hold.

  The secretary looked blankly at us as we disappeared down a row of cubicles. “Come for a quickie in the break room?”

  I understood her bitterness now, and I felt sorry for her. I mean, Vince hadn’t been able to move on with her, but he could with me, which had to sting in the most awful way. Despite that, I couldn’t resist. “Yes,” I replied, raising an eyebrow at her.

  “Watch it,” she snapped. “His office is at the end of this row.” She pointed left as we came to the last cubicle in the hallway.

  Before I could reply, she had turned and charged off, making for the huge office opposite Vince’s.

  As I drew near, Terrance opened the door, hauling a man out of the office by his jacket collar. Tall, with a scruffy beard, and a haggard look, he could have easily been a bum or a drug addict. Terrance didn’t so much as glance my way, handling the man with rough hands.

  Vince caught sight of me and smiled, on the phone. I passed his personal secretary’s desk and she tried to stop me, but Vince waved her off. Closing the door, I sat across from him. I was a little amazed by Vince’s choice of business attire: he wore an Iron Man shirt under a black blazer. Apparently he didn’t change for work. His confidence and sense of self turned me on as I appraised him in his work environment.